The Primarch Reborn
by Miria The Phantom
Summary: When a soul is cast into the warp it usually dissipates, but those with enough will or psychic might can retain some semblance of themselves. So the question must be asked, what happens when a Primarch dies? And what happens when a war that sees the deaths of so many Primarchs occurs?
1. Chapter 1

_**Prologue**_

Trapped in a cage of iron and steel, a girl pleaded to anyone who would listen. A being wondered the tides of the empyrean, aimless and in a haze of blindness and confusion. The being remembered vague things about itself: a name, a concept, a cause, and a brother whom it- he, the being recalled- could neither save nor avenge. In its haze it looked hither and thither for one that could give him purpose, one whom had experienced a betrayal of one close to them.

The being's attention was caught by the girl, who was but a small, fragile thing; hardly alive and to most hardly worthy of any mind. The being saw within that mortal an image of the ideal he had fought –and, he supposed, died- for, that a human could; nay, **must** , overcome the trials of the world and become stronger for it. Following from this, the being observed the girl from within its own hazy existence as something else caught its attention, a small thing, a mere shard of some great being, fell from the sky toward the girl. What the shard-thing was the being did not know, what he did know, at some fundamental level, was that this was a way in; a way into what the being did not fully comprehend but all the same as the shard grew closer to the girl whom had interested him so, the being exerted his remaining will and pushed against the veil, a process made all the easier due to the very nature of the creature.

It felt as though passing through a doorway, entering this thing's mind, almost too easy for a creature of such power and potential. The pressure against the being reminded him inexorably of the great battles of its previous life, and that invigorated him to fight all the harder. The battle raged for a time, or perhaps for but a moment, before the being rested a semblance of control from the shard. Unable to destroy or cast out the consciousness of the shard, the being did what it could to restrain the creature, trapping it within its own mind.

The girl saw before her a sprawling behemoth, as vast as the cosmos themselves. She envisioned the sprawling mass of the creature and a small fragment separating from it to fall into the void, toward what might have been earth. The fragment fell for a time before it began to squeal and scream in some incomprehensible manner as _something_ began to subsume it from within and from without. The creature, now different yet similar, continued its fall and as it approached the possible earth, she blacked out.

 _ **Chapter 1**_

My thoughts were fuzzy as I awoke and my head ached. I felt around for my glasses, only succeeding in banging my hand on a table at my bedside. Forcing my eyes open I got a blurry picture of a white room of some kind. Not feeling nearly as panicked as I knew I should be I grabbed what looked to be my glasses from a nearby table and put them on. The blotchy picture of the room resolved itself instantly into the type of hospital room I had only before seen in the occasional TV show. Now that I paid it any mind, the room reeked of disinfectant.

Details began returning to me slowly: A foul smell that emanated from my locker, my investigation, Sophia shoving me in, my panicking- on impulse I brought up my hands which had been torn up as I clawed at the locker, trying to get it open, or to get someone to notice. They were each wrapped in a thin layer of bandages, not as many as I would have thought would be needed to cover up all the bloody lines I had sliced into them in my haste to escape. Odd that I wasn't feeling any pain from them. The only other thing I could recall was my panic, a panic that now looked to have been far more self-destructive than necessary- that thought brought me up short. Why was I thinking of it like this, I could have died. How am I being so calm about this?

My musings were cut off by a knock at the door, which was swiftly followed by a nurse entering. The woman's eyebrow rose slightly as she saw that I was awake, before she spoke. "My, you're awake early."

My first attempt to reply devolved into a minor coughing fit, my throat still bore a slight ache from screaming myself hoarse, but I was able to recover and respond in relatively short order. "where am I exactly?" Another thought hit me. "And where is my dad?"

The nurse put on a smile, an idle part of my brain noted was likely practiced. Before saying in as gentle a tone as she could. "You're at Brockton general hospital. I am your nurse, Genna." She paused for a moment to check a clipboard she carried.

"You're Taylor Hebert, correct?" I nodded. "Your father was here until visiting hours ended, he should be back tomorrow" A quick check of a wrist watch. "later today, actually."

An idle glance toward the window confirmed that it was night outside, the little light coming in no doubt from the nightlife, such as it was, of the city. That answered that question, now to figure out just how long I was out. "How long have I been here, um, if you don't mind me asking."

Another check of the clipboard. "You arrived here yesterday. At three, twenty-three PM." I made to sit up but the nurse put a hand on my shoulder and gently pushed me back down. "You shouldn't be trying to move yet. You've been through quite a lot and the doctor says that you shouldn't be moving around yet."

That was odd, I barely felt a thing, aside from this obnoxious headache but even that seemed to be growing fainter with each passing moment. Another question came to mind, one that I probably should have asked first. "What happened?"

Genna's response was another check of the clipboard. I noticed her lips turn downward. "I was just assigned to your care so I don't know all the details but from what I'm seeing here, you were treated for several lacerations and a series of infections." Judging by the look on her face and what little I could recall, there was more to it than that.

The next few seconds dragged on before she shuffled awkwardly and nodded her head to the door. "I'll let the doctor know that you woke up, it would be best if you got some sleep." She was probably right, after all, with morning would come questions; questions to which I would be expected to have answers.

 _ **Line Break**_

The next few days were spent largely in bed while the doctor, Tygan, if I remember correctly; made sure I was healthy. There had indeed been more to my injuries than what Genna had let on. The cuts on my legs and a few on my arms had almost gone toxic. A few more hours inside that locker and I might have died. That thought, despite its implications, barely phased me for whatever reason.

Dad also came to visit. He looked years older than he was as he talked to me, the weight of the world upon his shoulders. He asked me who had done this, and when that didn't work he begged. I wanted to tell him, I really, truly did; but I knew that I had no way to prove it and throwing around accusations would only make the situation worse.

Although dad did his best to hide it from me, I had seen the look that was frequently on his face before, when he thought of mom, or when he ran into trouble with the ferry; an anger that he could not find a target for and inevitably turned it either inward or onto whoever was unfortunate enough to inconvenience him next. Although I hadn't heard anything from him, I suspect that he had already had at least one one-sided rant at someone loosely involved in this. Probably Principal Blackwell. And if I know Blackwell half as well as I think I do, which admittedly isn't much; she would fiercely deny any and all accountability. I felt a surprising lack of anger at the thought, closer to mere annoyance than the fury that probably should have blossomed within me.

The better part of a week past in that same vein. With the doctor or nurse Genna checking up on me periodically. The odd test or blood draw to make sure they hadn't missed anything when they had cleaned out my system. And dad stopping by every chance he had; that dour expression on his face far more often than not. I had to fill out a report for the police but nothing else of real import occurred during that time.

After four days in the hospital, four days that felt far longer than they should have, I was released from the hospital with a note saying that I should stay home for the next week to ensure my health. Apparently, according to the doctor, I had heal faster than expected. Good to know that if nothing else I can recover quickly.

It was shortly after I was released from the hospital that strange things started happening. At first it was minor things: feeling a little stronger than I should, my eyes being just slightly better even without my glasses, a slightly more acute sense of taste; things that could have been passed off as just feeling better from being able to move properly again.

Then came the dreams. Dreams of a great conflict, of a great metal monster, different from any cape I had ever heard of, of a titanic clash and a Giant of a man drowning the creature in magma; with the metal of the creature fusing itself to the man's arms. I had never been one for dreams, in the rare cases where I had them they were nonsensical and faded almost as soon as I awoke, these dreams were consistent and would not leave no matter what else I tried to think of.

A few days after my release from the hospital, I was laying atop my bed, pondering the latest dream of the giant man fighting a man in gold that towered over him as he towered over normal men. This dream had given me a spark of inspiration, for what I didn't exactly know, but my hands itched to do something, to build something. I think dad kept some parts in the basement.

Despite it being fairly early in the day, dad was already at work. That was probably a good thing, it would mean fewer awkward questions. A brisk walk through the house and down into the basement, and before I knew it I was sifting through piles of assorted scrap and parts, bits and pieces that were parts of projects that went unfinished or had yet to be repurposed. I only had the vaguest idea of what I was doing, mostly just trying to make what I had seen in the dreams.

After a few minutes of messing about I twisted an errant bunch of wires and fed them through what had been a non-functioning battery pack for a walkie talkie. Occasionally minor shocks went up my fingers but I didn't pay them much mind. The repurposed battery had begun humming after a few minor adjustments and would now be more or less ready for use. I would need to get my hands on something with which to weld the pack onto another piece of metal to make the most of it. Oh, and it would probably be best if I also made something based off of that suit the golden man had worn, I think I saw some metal behind the stairs that I could use.

I continued on in a similar vein, starting a project based off of something or other from the dream before realizing that I was missing something or wouldn't be able to jury-rig a particular part together without risking it blowing up or overloading another part, before the itch to create dulled enough for my stomach to inform me I had yet to eat today. I dragged myself away from a piece of metal I had been beating into a massive shoulder plate with a hammer to go back upstairs and grab something to eat.

It was oddly dark when I got back upstairs, strange, it shouldn't have been more than an hour or so. I craned my head to check the wall clock as I snacked on a pre-wrapped sandwich which would have been my launch today. 'Huh, only five thirty-five.' I though dully. I went back to my meal or a second or two before it dawned on me. 'I could have sworn it was past eight when I got up.'

I walked over to one of the windows to confirm a suspicion that had begun to make itself known. The streets were relatively well lit by various lampposts and a few houses, and the sinking sun was just visible as it loomed over the horizon. I had been working for well over ten hours straight. I've been working for more than ten hours straight! A calm came to me before my thoughts could get too heated, and with it a term that I had heard in a cape magazine I had read a while back out of boredom. "Tinker frenzy."

That made a surprising amount of sense, all things considered. I didn't even know what most of those parts in the basement were, let alone what I was doing with them. The obvious question of how I got powers came to the forefront of my mind and was answered just as quickly, the locker, it had something to do with the locker. More pressing was the next question, what do I do now? Whether out of some internal desire to avoid the question or a suggestion of its own, my hand twitched in unison. Right, I can figure out the specifics later, first tinkering! My stomach made its displeasure known again. First food, then tinkering, I amended.

Author's note:

Greetings my esteemed and honored readers. I bring to you my first attempt at a story. As this is my first attempt at a story I would encourage those of you who comment to be as proactive as possible in pointing out any flaws you notice in the story, be it with structure, plot, characters, or the suchlike. I would like to use my time here, and this story in particular, to improve my writing skill (which has laid unused for such a long time that I am surprised I remember how to type) and in order to improve I would request as much criticism as possible.

In regards to the story, and the first chapter in particular, I will say that I have events planned but the way to said events is rocky in its formation. I will say that this chapter in particular suffered from a rushed writing period (largely due to my inept stumbling) which I hope to correct for future chapters. This is (hopefully) me at my worst and I hope to one day overcome at least a majority of my flaws in the realm of writing, no matter how far off that goal might currently be.

Addendum: if the first chapter was any indication I will likely be re-posting the chapters within a few day of initial posting if I catch this many problems after the fact. I have re-edited this to remove a few problems and misconceptions that some people had, as well as performed a slight reworking of the ending so as to not create a rather large plot hole early on.

Also: the reason for me re-editing the last few paragraphs is due to a pacing issue I discovered when I sat down to try and write a framework for chapter two, I won't go into specifics but I will say that, yes, Ferrus will make a proper appearance later. Apologies if I got people's hopes up there.

My thanks for reading what I have out so far.

Yours, Miria the Phantom.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2**_

 _ **Note: if you read chapter one in the first three-odd days after its initial publication I would suggest rereading the latter half of it. The reason for this is due to a rather dramatic re-write that changed a few things. But enough of my rambling, Enjoy the chapter.**_

After dad got home another rather unpleasant decision was made apparent: do I tell him about my powers? At first it seemed natural to do so. Despite how we had been drifting apart over the years he had been there for me in the hospital and would support me, of that I have no doubt, and it would probably make any requests for parts more understandable. On the other hand: he already has too much on his plate with the Dockworker's union and trying to get anything he can out of the school to pay for my medical bills, plus, I'm not sure how well he would take knowing just how bad the bullying had been.

Dad, for his part, looked even more haggard than usual when he walked through the door. His negotiations with the school had probably gone nowhere, again, and if I had to guess the Union was still getting no work. He seemed a tad surprised to see me and seemed to know that I wanted to talk about something, probably hoping I'd finally open up to him about the locker.

After he had situated himself, hanging up his coat and putting away the briefcase he carried more for appearance's sake than anything else, He pulled up a chair at the table across from me. We stared at each other for a moment before we both spoke. "Dad, I wanted to tell-" "Taylor, there's something-"

We each cut ourselves off and looked away awkwardly. After a moment he spoke again. "Yes, Taylor, what is it?"

It comes to mind that I didn't actually think about what I was going to tell him, or how for that matter. Maybe it would be better if I had something to show him first, so he won't think I'm getting in over my head. I don't know if I want to get involved in the Wards, seems too much like another highschool situation, and dad would want me to join for my own protection if nothing else. With that in mind I decided to try passing it off as a hobby for the time being. "I, um, I just wanted to know if you had any spare parts lying around. I've been trying to pass the time with some of your spare parts in the basement but I think there were a few pieces missing."

I may have misstepped by mentioning the parts downstairs. He looked rather concerned when I mentioned the parts. "You're not hurt are you? Some of the parts down there haven't been stored properly and-"

I cut him off, him getting worked up would only make the next part harder. "I know dad, I was careful." Although I felt a pang of guilt for manipulating him like this, it was lessened by the knowledge that he would know the whole true in time. "It's just, it's just that I want to do something besides just lying in bed all day till I get better."

That at least seemed to bring him up short. He leaned back in his chair for a few moments as he mulled it over. There was still a small frown on his face when he next spoke. "I can't remember you never being interested in machinery or electricity. Why the sudden change?"

A question I knew was coming but still couldn't really say much about. After Emma and Sophia I had bigger things to worry about than dad's work stuff and before that I had been too young to care about or even understand things like electricity beyond 'it's what makes the lights turn on'. Besides reading I hadn't been able to do much, being social was close to impossible with Emma spreading rumors. I chose to stick to a relative truth. "I'm not entirely sure, really, I just can't stand being stuck in bed all day. I want to do something with my hands."

Dad opened his mouth to respond, then closed it. A few seconds later he responded, his tone tinged with understanding. "I used to throw myself at my work whenever I didn't know what to do. It helped me through some hard times in my life." He took a deep breath, trying to steady his thoughts. When he next spoke, some seconds later, his voice was heavy with emotion. "If that is what you are doing, then I'll be more than willing to help but please Taylor, if there is anything troubling you, anything at all, tell me. I don't want you withdrawing from people because of what happened."

Oh, so that was what this was about. I should have guessed he would think along those lines what with me bringing up a 'new hobby' out of the blue. Then again, his assumption that I was merely throwing myself into work to forget my worries was correct, just not in the way he was thinking. Still, despite how much we had drifted away from one another in the past few years, I touched me that he still knew what was bothering me, even at a glance. It was a nice reminder that he still cared. With another reminder to myself to plan these conversations out before having them I spoke, taking pains to keep my voice level, no sense in having dad jump to anymore conclusions. "That's- thanks dad. I really appreciate it."

The sniffle I had to suppress told me that I should switch the topic before I got too emotional. It would send all the wrong signals if I started crying now. Dad had wanted to talk about something, that had to be better than where this conversation would lead if it kept its focus on me. Hopefully it wouldn't be too obvious. "You were wanting to say something?"

I knew I failed at being subtle as soon as the words left my lips, the look dad gave me did naught but drive the point further that I am not good at talking to people. All the same, dad let the topic change. After a quick re-adjustment of his seat, the seats like most of the house seemed to be collapsing in on itself as the months and years rolled by, he spoke again. The small smile on his face foretelling good news. "We managed to get a new contract, a pretty big one. A few of the guys who were about to leave have actually decided to stick around a while longer."

I didn't have to fake the grin that split my face. The Dockworkers association had been going downhill ever sense Brockton's shipping industry dried up and that meant every month or so a few members would leave to either try to find work elsewhere or they would turn to the gangs in hopes of earning enough to get by. The union actually getting some work would mean that dad and I wouldn't have to say goodbye to anymore old friends for some time, and the extra money this would bring in would probably be needed for the hospital bills if the school continued being uncooperative. I didn't bother to suppress my excitement in my voice. "That's wonderful dad! Have you told the others yet, they'll be relieved to hear the news?"

"Just Garry and Lena. Everyone else already went home for the night." A small chuckle. "Just means that everyone'll get a pleasant surprise tomorrow."

The conversation continued on for a while after, each of us settled in and enjoying the simple act of talking to one another about whatever phased us. A practice that was all but alien to the both of us. I not so subtly deflected any attempts to talk about school, a topic I still wasn't sure how to address with him, and he thankfully didn't ask about the locker. After which we fixed and ate our dinner and went to bed. Well, dad went to bed. I tried to go to bed, rustled around in the covers for a sold half-hour, and then snuck back downstairs for some more Tinkering.

When I finally did get to bed I was welcomed with a warm vision: a vision of a reunion between the giant with the iron hands and an assembly of men, all clad in black and silver armor reminiscent of medieval knights and of a stature that towered over normal men yet were small compared to the giant. The words spoken were muffled, by both the dream and the helmets worn by the men, but all the same the cheers held the same words "The Primarch" and "Ferrus Manus" The cheering continued on for some time, weather some minutes or days I could not tell, before in a blur my vision of the dream shifted. No longer was I an immaterial spectator but rather I was viewing the precession from the perspective of the giant, the one they had referred to as 'Ferrus Manus'. Ferrus turned from the man standing opposite to him, the name Amadeus DuCaine rung distantly in the back of my mind, and spoke to the assorted crowd in a booming, guttural voice which carried effortlessly throughout the vast auditorium. "My sons! I have returned to you, to lead you in this: The greatest undertaking of Humanity!" A hand encased in silvery metal raised itself into the air and Ferrus's voice roared with a fury that shook the very room within which it was spoken. "We are the shield against terror! We are the defenders of Humanity! And we shall know no fear!"

The cry was taken up by the crowd: some repeating the cry of the giant, some roaring oaths and promises to the heavens, the few members who had foregone the medieval-style helmets looked to be on the verge of tears, such was the fervor of those present. I, as much as I could be within the dream, was moved: by the conviction in the giant's voice, by the spirit of the men, and by an odd sense that pervaded the scene, less one of comradery than one of a family reuniting after a long absence; that last feeling, more than any other, struck a chord within me and stayed with me as I awoke.

 _ **Line Break**_

Over the next two weeks dad gave me a steady stream of electronics, simple things to most but parts that I could adapt into key components for the equipment I was making. That new contract providing enough spare cash at just the right time to finance this 'new hobby' of mine and speed up my schedule. My return to school on the other hand, well, some things never change do they?

As I sat through Mrs. Knott's computer class, a class that had if anything managed to get even easier sense my powers made themselves known. I searched though the PHO forums for any cape who looked similar to the giant 'Ferrus Manus' or his 'sons'. My search revealed nothing of use. Tinkers who made powered armor were a dime-a-dozen and a fare few of those, such as the local Ward Gallant, had made armor styled after knights but none had the right look, the right intensity to the make or shape of the metal. Out of a need to know just what I had been seeing I even tried searching for the few names I knew from the dream: Ferrus Manus, Amadeus DuCaine, and The Emperor. The only hits were on an Italian Tinker from the nineteen-eighties named 'Iron Handed', and a Master from Canada named 'Emperor' who was killed by Dragon a few years ago after he tried to have several governmental officials killed.

Counter to what I had thought, the trio were determined to not give me a moment's rest. The constant heckling was present, although not as dogged and vicious as usual, which helped me ignore it, and Emma's initial attempts to get a rise out of me were fairly ineffectual. Although I got the impression that this was less her having finally lost interest as much as her trying get me to dread what would come next, a favorite tactic of hers. Madison stuck to her usual roll, making snide comments and keeping me the topic of conversation with her groupies in the few classes we shared. Even Sophia, usually the most violent out of the three stuck to giving me sideward glares in the halls.

It was in Mr. Gladly's class, as I was idly sketching a few symbols, a hand clad in iron and a face emblazoned upon a cog, that a sharp pain coursed through my ribs as if the bones themselves where being twisted together. It felt as though liquid fire was coursing through my veins as the world changed, my vision stretched itself, the colors becoming vibrant in the extreme before twisting and melding, my brain seared with the pain of a thousand knives, I felt my heart burst as a wave of gravity caved in my chest cavity, and a ringing like war drums nearly blew out my ears as the crash of explosions rocked the bare wasteland around me for but an instant.

I barely held in a yell of pain as I felt myself crumble to the floor. I began hacking onto the floor, anything to get the blood I could feel swelling up from my crushed lungs out. Slowly, all too slowly, most of the pain resolved itself: my head resolving itself into a dull ache rather that the cacophony of pain it had been a moment previous, my heart continued its beating stronger than before if the hammering of it in my ears was any indication, My ears sore though they were stopped projecting whatever battle I had born brief witness to, and my eyes slowly cleared from the vision to instead face the concerned faces of my classmates, one of which was slapping me on the back as Mr. Gladly stood at the front of the class, floundering for what to do. Briefer visions flashed before my eyes: of me clutching at my sides as I fell out of my desk, of one of my classmates, a suspected ABB member named Jiang if I remembered correctly, moving to help after a few seconds of stunned silence claimed the class, and of Gladly's eyes widening as what was happening finally hit him.

A minute or two of more of heavy coughing passed. During which I coughed up several bright red bloody flakes, before the lion's share of the pain had passed and I was able to move under my own power again. Around that time Gladly had shaken himself out of his stupor and told one of the kids to get the nurse, but still didn't feel the need to check on the student of his who was, despite my best efforts, struggling to stand. Most of the pain from the initial, attack, vision, whatever that was had faded and I nodded to Jiang that I could stand.

I began staggering toward my desk, this could cause problems depending on how long it lasted, when I heard Mr. Gladly's frightened voice. "I think you should head to the nurse, Miss Hebert"

My attempt to turn towards him nearly resulted in me crashing into a row of desks as my own weight threw me off balance. Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad idea. I made to move toward my seat, if I left anything here it would be destroyed or given to Emma, either way I wouldn't be getting it back, but Mr. Gladly just waved me off 'I will send a student down with your things shortly, Miss Hebert, but you really must get to the infirmary."

A part of me wanted to continue on or make sure Gladly would keep that promise, but as a different thought struck me, I decided to simply nod. Despite the pain still echoing its way through my body, a plan was rapidly taking shape: a plan to buy me more time, if nothing else. I forced myself through the door and began stumbling my way down to what passed for a nurse's office at Winslow, looking back once to make sure Gladly was being quite as thoughtless as I suspected, the sight of no one else in the hallways confirmed it.

The pain had dissipated almost entirely by the time I got to the office itself, for all of Winslow's nigh on innumerable faults a lack of size wasn't one of them. The nurse was a kindly older lady, one whose name never stuck with me. She was unable to do much besides offer a bed to lay on and offer an icepack. With a distinct lack of pain in need of treating I spent my time there digging for information. As it turned out she was quite surprised to see me here, meaning Gladly didn't bother calling in that he was sending an injured student through the halls. After a good half-hour, by which point the last remnants of the pain had settled and the vast majority of Mr. Gladly's class was over, I told the nurse that I was okay to go back.

It left a sour taste in my mouth, using people like that, but this would be for a greater purpose; more time away from the three and more time to get a grasp of my powers so another incident like that didn't happen.

The rest of school was uneventful and by the numbers. My backpack had apparently been carried down by Julie, one of Madison's friends, which meant I wouldn't be seeing it any time soon. Maybe I wasn't feeling so bad about that manipulation, Gladly was showing himself to be dumber than I thought by the second. The taunting would probably have picked up as school closed out but I made as quick an escape as I could, sprinting out of the school with my one remaining notebook.

I toyed with the idea of calling dad as soon as I got home but decided against for the sake of both not distracting him from work and to get in more Tinkering. Tinkering had a way of soothing my nerves that little else did and it would be best if I was calm when I told dad the plan.

I had just finished attaching a pair of oversized pauldrons and began the finishing bits of wiring for the headpiece of the armor I had spent the better part of the last two weeks on when I heard the car pull up the drive. Shutting off the improvised equipment I had been using, I bolted up the stairs. It would probably be for the best if I told dad what had happened before anything else.

My plan, as much of it as I had been able to come up with while sitting in the office and of the way home, was that I would simply let the school, Mr. Gladly in particular, make as big fools out of themselves as possible around my little incident before exposing the lot of it. An angry parent can be intimidating and doubly so if it was about a mistreatment of their child. With that in mind, and what little I knew of medical procedure, namely that it existed, I felt confident that Gladly and Blackwell would have more pressure on them; especially after the locker. If nothing else, my hope was that I would get some extra time to my work and away from the Trio.

It turned out that I had dramatically underestimated exactly how badly Gladly had screwed up. Dad had a temper, one that he was very careful to not show around me, but one that I had overheard some of while in the hospital. This time I got a very up close look at just what he looked like when sufficiently angered. Dad, Danny, could never be described as an intimidating man: pretty skinny, slight of build and with a weak chin, but as he was now: red in the face to where he was almost glowing, shaking in his seat, and with a look in his eyes that make him look ready to kill someone, I could say he scared even me a bit. He was visibly restraining himself as I finished the story and I was taking special care to not let my voice waver.

A few moments of deep breathing passed as he tried to calm himself in the wake of my tale. Once he had calmed himself down he leaned over the table and gave me the biggest hug he could. We weren't exactly touchy-feely people, either of us, so it took me a moment to return it. We sat there for a moment before he spoke. "Thank you. Thank you for finally telling me." He sounded on the verge of crying, which made my eyes sting almost on reflex. "I'll go talk with them tomorrow. Someone will answer for this-this-" Another deep breath. "You just get some rest, I'll take care of this."

A part of the reason I hadn't told him about the bullying, still didn't when I could avoid it, was this. I hated seeing my dad like this, either angry at the world and unable to do anything or disappointed at himself for not being there for me. At least this time it's for a good cause.

 _ **Line Break**_

It went surprisingly well, dad's little chat with Blackwell. At least, that was what dad told me when he got home the next day and judging by the smile on his face as he told me, I'm inclined to believe him. I doubted anything permanent would change due to that incident, nothing had after the locker, but it would buy me more time and that is what counted. According to dad I had another few days off school to 'recover from my panic attack'. Mr. Gladly would also be punished for his 'poor handling of a potential crisis' but something tells me that punishment only might manifest as something as severe as a slap on the wrist.

Regardless, any extra time would be time spent finishing up and adding to my suit. Not sure if it had anything to do with my powers but I found myself needing to sleep far less after that day, three to four hours as opposed to the usual seven to nine, either way it gave far more time to work.

By the end of my impromptu break I had my suit itself and most of the wiring finished, the Skull-like helm the last to be completed due to the large amount of wiring. The suit was modeled after some of the 'sons' of Ferrus Manus. Made with the same sort of resemblance to medieval knights, and possessed of the same titanic size, all the better to hide my identity. The armor was free of and markings or symbology, save for the gauntleted hand of iron that resided on the right shoulder-guard and the center of the chest. The helmet was set into the chestplate itself, leaving my neck exposed would be an unnecessary risk with people like Oni Lee and Victor as possible enemies, and a large hump extended out of the back so as to make sure I wasn't shot from behind. More sensors could almost certainly be crammed into the helm but that would take even more time and probably more advanced tools that what I had to hand.

Stepping back to admire my work, I turned over in my hand an inelegant piece of metal and electronics. A teleporter beacon. The armor itself was far too large and heavy to make it up the stairs, much less through the house without falling through the floor or carving a groove into the ceiling. All I had to do was place the beacon somewhere, preferably a distance away from the house, and I would be able to simply bypass that problem. I could even reverse the process if a retreat was needed. A grin made itself known, I was finally ready.

Now all I needed was a name and I would be ready to reveal myself to Brockton Bay.

 _ **Author's note:**_ This might be something of a long one.

First off, this was originally going to be two different chapters (the original cutoff point is pretty obvious) but I merged the two partly due to the shortness of the would-be third chapter and partly to show that stuff was happening rather than just meandering about.

In relation to the changes to the first chapter and the reasons for said changes: I ran into problems (more than usual) with things like pacing and planning for this and future chapters if I had Ferrus himself around. This left me with the options of either neutering both his memory and abilities (a bad idea that in my hands stands a good chance of being buggered up) or having Taylor take on aspects of Ferrus as the story goes on. Naturally, I choose the latter option.

I would also like to address one aspect I get the feeling would be brought up if I didn't (and that I feel was handled sup-optimally during my writing of the chapter), that being Taylor bringing Danny into the problems with the school. I am unsure if canon Taylor would have done this (more likely than not she would have aired on the side of caution and not) but I wanted to both give a showing of changes from the Primarch (Manus would only hesitate to ask for help out of pride, not something Taylor had much of at the beginning of Worm) and make it more reasonable for her to have constructed a full set of power armor in what would amount to a week otherwise. Tinkers may be bullshit but Astartes patterns of power armor tend to be rather intricate.

As an aside: that bit about a rather profitable job (just) a reason to give Taylor a way of getting supplies, I won't give info here (that's what the story itself is for) but it is part of a plan.

In the interest of full disclosure, I picked the Iron hands and Ferrus Manus largely due to them being the legion and Primarch I knew the least about. Since getting the idea to write this I have been reading through all the material I can find on the legion-era Iron hands (Shattered Legions and Ferrus Manus: Gorgon of Medusa primarily). I have gained something of an appreciation for them as I've read through these works but all the same I may get some things wrong, in that event I would appreciate corrections.

And as with the previous chapter, I wish to both humbly thank those of you who have read this and politely ask that those of you who find fault tell me. Be it with my style of writing or how I write characters, I ask that your harshest criticisms be applied that I may learn and improve.

Yours, Miria the Phantom


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3**_

With my work complete the day before my second return to school I found myself assailed by something all too rare, options. Namely, to go out that night, without a name or anything more than the vaguest outline of a plan, or to wait until the day after and see what I could do for both fronts. There were a few points for each side by the time I made my decision: on one hand there was no guarantee that I would even encounter anyone on my first night out, and even if I did it would probably not be another parahuman. On the other hand I would prefer to be prepared and any sort of possibility, I was aware of my own luck after all.

The night's sleep was mostly pleasant, despite what had looked to be a violent start. A grand forge set underneath a grand mountain. Within which I worked and prepared myself for a great undertaking, though what the task was I cannot recall, when a brother I had yet to meet made a great proclamation that he would fashion a weapon greater than any before. I scoffed at the idea. He had the air about him of an artist or a Politian, his hands pale and unblemished and a curtain of silvery hair. I had informed my brother that I couldn't let such a boast go unanswered and we made something of a challenge of it, working to outdo the other.

I decided at the competition's outset to outdo him at that which he looked to be best at. What would an artist be without a weapon he could flourish about? A hammer would be to direct, too to the point for one such as he, and so I strove to make the best sword I could. Time passed, weeks or months, but neither or us cared, so immersed in our work were we. I inlaid gold upon obsidian upon the finest of steel and he did much the same weaving intricate patterns throughout.

At competition's end we both revealed our newest creations to one another. It appeared we both had the same idea, for as I revealed my prize, a blade that would emit fire eternal and cut anything before it- Fireblade I had called it- my brother revealed his own newest creation. A great hammer he called Forgebreaker. Smitten might be the wrong word but I was awed in much the same manner by the weapon. Threads of silver and gold wound up a handle of deepest ebony to a head that was as wide as the torso of any of our sons, with a golden eagle running the sides of the hammer whose wings tapered off into claws toward the back.

I had been wrong and in quickest order thrust compliment upon compliment upon my brother's creation. He did likewise, extoling that Fireblade was worthy of any number of heroes of old and that it would be a worthy weapon for our undertaking –our great crusade- to retake what was lost. After a few moments of traded compliments and exhortations of the other's talents we both fell silent, nodded to the other and as was fitting, exchanged our weapons. My brother- Fulgrim, the name came to me with a forcefulness out of synch with the rest of the dream- took up Fireblade, as I took up Forgebreaker.

Strangely, instead of the dream dissolving as the others had with the scene it had wished to show me done, it shifted. The shift was a small thing, as if a handful of moments had passed, rather than the days or weeks that were more likely, but we both stood, side by side within a palace that covered entire ranges of mountains, such was its magnitude. Another of our brothers, one who was born aloft on great wings of white, had arrived bearing gifts for our father. Great troves of expertly crafted statues and glittering gemstones beyond count. I was unimpressed, for what use were statues and gems in the face of the great battles to come? I said as much, our mutual brother taking my bluntness with a stride that I found commendable. Fulgrim responded by laughing merrily before bemoaning that "You truly are a terrible Gorgon. If we Primarchs cannot value beauty and art, then how are we to appreciate the galaxy that we are to win back?"

An insult, and one meant as such. Yet despite that I felt a twinkle of amusement at the title my brother had unknowingly awarded me with.

The dream faded then and when I awoke my pillow was stained with tears. Something that hadn't happened in, well, in a very long time.

All the same, day meant school and school meant the trio. The attack that occurred at school was the first and by far the largest of the ones I had suffered since. In the time since, the closest it had come was an ache at one point of my body or another, rather than the all-encompassing agony that had overcome me then.

Exactly what the spikes of pain and discomfort were, I couldn't say. The closest I had come to an answer to that was in my form. I had always been tall for my age, dwarfing all but the tallest of the boys in my grade and typically most of the ones in the next few, but I was also skinny. A long time ago Emma had referred to me as 'willowy' she still did occasionally but never in the joking context it had been said back then. However, I had noticed my form filling in as of late, not in a way I would typically like, what with my entire torso growing slightly along with my legs. My arms were also starting to grow larger, muscles were barely visible but present where they hadn't been three weeks previous. Near as I could tell this was due to my power as well.

Yet even that brought questions. I had checked on PHO and a few other assorted sites how powers were identified and located the classifications. Twelve in total, they were broad categories within which a cape was lumped based on specific powers or power-sets. Changes to the body were the realm of three of them: Changers, who could transform themselves at will, not mine then; Breakers, capes who could break the laws of physics in some noticeable why but typically changed something about themselves while they were doing so, such as Velocity of the local Protectorate; and Brutes, capes that had altered strength, toughness, and physical powers. Although the sites tended to be vague, and the ones that weren't generally were so due to rampant speculation, Brute sounded most like my own power-set. Yet even that raised questions due to the Tinker classification, which focused on being able to make advanced technology.

My best guess was that I was a Brute and a Tinker, the site had mentioned certain capes who were in multiple categories for one reason or another.

'Well,' I thought, pulling myself out of the covers that I had been trying to encircle myself with as I though. 'This day was gonna come sooner or later. Best to get it over with.'

 _ **Line Break**_

It was almost Deja vu. The same banal topics were being covered in the classes, all of which had gotten infinitely easier in my absence, the same gang-related scuffles in the halls when one group got to touchy with another, even mostly the same insults form the usual suspects. It was a minor thing, even before the locker, to shut out the voices of Madison and her friends. To focus my mind on other things. If I weren't so confident in one of the trio trying to either steal or destroy it within a week, I would be tempted to sketch designs in my notebook to help pass the time.

So many designs had been flooding my brain, seemingly even more as time went on, that I had taken to sketching the design in order put the thought of it to the side without having to worry about the design in question being lost forever. Granted, what with not being entirely sure how my power worked, I didn't know if the designs would just evaporate from my mind if I didn't either build them or jaunt them down. Everything was a matter of time and money with them, time money and scale. I had, stashed in the basement with the rest of my tools and my armor, blueprints for massive walkers and even what I was pretty sure was a starship of some kind. Nothing I could ever hope to build on my own, the thing was over ten miles long if I had been reading them correctly, but still something to keep around just for the sake of it if nothing else.

Musing helped distract. That was generally good where Winslow was considered, not like there was anything that would actually be _taught_ here, the downside of not paying attention is just that, not paying attention. The first I had noticed that Mr. Quinlan had stepped out and left the class to themselves for the last fifteen-odd minutes was when one of the student who may as well have had his gang affiliations tattooed on him gave me a shove from the side.

Instincts I hadn't had a scant few weeks ago flared to life, a hand shooting out and bracing myself on the floor as the rest of me turned with the momentum. Almost without thinking of it I made a small jump backward to put a bit more space between us and to assess the situation. Three of them all Empire eighty-eight members, if the uniformity was any indication. Odd that the local supremacists would bother with me, but not the first time, probably some rumor the trio started.

Two sentiments were screaming in my ears. One to hide or to run, or to do whatever they wanted so they would leave me alone, and that anything I did would just draw attention to me with the risk of even outing me as a parahuman. The other was hardly an improvement. My power was practically shouting how best to maim or kill the three, various methods of breaking bones or causing internal bleeding, and how best to use the chair that had toppled next to me to cause any number of injuries. Neither would be viable, at least not in totality. I would normally listen to the first, my own instincts and the pattern that had been hammered into me for the last two years, but for some confounding reason I could not stomach the idea of submitting to these- these _mortals_. Running was out and even just me beating them would raise questions a plenty, especially in conjunction with my plan, which would see a new parahuman appearing at around the same time, all it would take is one person making the connection and everything would come tumbling down.

A happy medium then. Try to figure out why they were there and get them to back off. If they wanted a fight, well, I had put on a little muscles over the past weeks, I could probably pass it off as me having been exercising. I squared my shoulders and straightened my spine, an unusual feeling in itself within the bounds of Winslow, and spoke. "What is the meaning of this!" Admittedly, not my best attempt at being diplomatic but I figured it had a decent chance of at least getting them to talk. Gangs seemed to respect strength, if nothing else.

They seemed surprised that I spoke first, probably not the best sign of my tendency of avoiding confrontation but something I could use. Pressing my luck was going to backfire but I was already going to catch hell over this, in for a penny and all that. I focused my attention on the one who had pushed me, about my height but larger and more heavily muscled, and spoke. "Who put you up to this?"

That got a reaction at least. The big one's face was a scowl as he spoke. "Heard you had been whoring round with those degenerates down at the docks. So me and the boys thought we'd send a message to anyone else who might be gettin' ideas." Ah, so rumors then. If there was one thing Emma had always been good with it was people. Working the rumor mill had been a pastime before but now was a weapon she used in a way that was almost admirable.

These three being used as weapons against me would be Emma's work. On one side there was an –admittedly slim- chance that they would back off if I told them who they were being manipulated by. That had too many moral compromises to use, despite my hatred for her I wouldn't point these three or any others at Sophia. At best the idea would get them to disperse, maybe, but that would only be if they believed me and didn't just take my denial as confirmation.

A quick glance to the side revealed that my classmates were keeping an eye on the confrontation but none looked about to step in, not even the couple of ABB kids. A few even had phones out, waiting for a show presumably. Quinlain being of assistance was a thought brought up out of reflex and discarded just as quickly, he always left within the last fifteen minutes of class and if the rumors about him were correct it was so he could either drink or shoot up on some chemical or other, no chance of help there. The wall-mounted clock was situated directly behind me so I couldn't even check how long I might have until people started coming and going.

A sideward nod of the head from the big one had both of the others walking to the sides. A message that trying to fight would be pointless and an intimidation tactic. I clenched my fists and readied myself for what would probably be a painful experience. After all, my power might have given me a rough idea of how to use a weapon or were to aim but it didn't come with a manual or instructions on how to use said information. Best I had to go off of was whatever instincts were being passed to me by Ferrus and even those I had to restrain so as to not kill the three.

A scant few seconds after one of the two had circled his way out of my vision a jolt went through me. On instinct I ducked, falling into a crouch as a fist soared over my head. No choice then, I allowed my power to begin flooding my perceptions. Colors stretched and brightened to the point of almost being painful and it felt as though my limbs where weightless and my control over my body felt firmer, tighter.

I drove my elbow back into the one whose punch had overshot, a gasp and the sounds of stumbling told me that I hit something, just as my power told me I would. The other two were already moving, one from my left and the other from the front. The biggest, the one who had spoken previously, would take a few seconds longer due to navigating on upturned chair and the desk so I turned and moved to intercept the other.

I ducked under a punch and snaked an arm around to grab the boy, slightly smaller than myself, by the hair and turned bodily dragging him in a half-turn and letting go. A small nick of pain went through my arm as it came back around from where I had grabbed his hair. All the same, his momentum carried him stumbling into the largest of the three as he was navigating around the toppled chair and desk, causing the both of them to fall into a tangle of limbs. If I wanted to win and keep my secret safe I would need to rely only their own strength rather than mine. The advantage to that was that it not only would make it sound and look more plausible to those that were watching but it would also mitigate how much I had to restrain my power. A lot harder to kill or maim someone doing this.

Maybe three at once wasn't so bad, I had mused as I took a moment to observe the one thug trying to stumble his way to his feet between taking great gulps of air and the two trying to disentangle themselves from both each other and the chair that they had fallen over. That it bought me a bit of time to settle my heavy breathing was a bonus. The one who I had tossed was heavier than I had thought. That or I wasn't quite as strong as my power made me think I was.

With them being out of the way I beat a retreat. I still hadn't had any supplies and even if I did the idea of continuing to put myself at senseless risk didn't sit well. I needed to find someplace quiet and get my power under control before I hurt someone, for even as I retreated from the room I was being fed the best ways to disable, maim, or kill anyone who got close. The bell had apparently rang at some time during the altercation as the halls were slowly flooding with a gaggle of students going this way and that, although the crowds seemed to be deliberately avoiding the area around Quinlain's classroom. The few who spared me glances looked away just as quickly and seemed to become even more strident in their desire to be as far away as possible. I scanned through the crowds looking for two people in particular, they always made it a point to be present either during the act or directly after. A moment passed as I continued making pace for the nearest doors out of the school, sticking around would only lead to more of those idiots picking fights and I might well have not been able to avoid seriously injuring them next time, when my eyes finally picked them out standing just without the outer circle of the crowd that was beginning to form around the door.

Emma and Sophia were appraising me, a small frown on Emma's face while Sophia's lips were drawn back into something that might have once been a smile. I took that as confirmation, not that any was truly needed, that they had something to do with this. I jerked my head away from them as the first suggestions and predictions came in, it served to keep me on track: Had to leave. The temptation to confront them was strong but between my power still clamoring for violence, my inability to prove any of it, and a gradually spreading numbness in my arm, I decided against.

No one tried to stop me as I marched out of Winslow, a few members of staff probably saw but no one approached. The driver of the city bus I used gave one look at me as I got on, said a quick, "I don't want any fightin' on my shift." took my pass and let me on. Odd, it wasn't the first time I had left before I was strictly speaking supposed to. The other passengers, what few there were this time of day, gave me a few looks, some of pity, some of concern; again, odd. The reason for this, and for the gradually spreading numbness only became clear some minutes into the ride when I started hearing a dripping. Occupied as I had been with getting my power back under control I hadn't been able to spare any time for distractions but as it withdrew its suggestions and influence I began to notice little things like the dripping, and the fact that my arm felt wet.

I had been bleeding, rather badly as it turned out. A large streak of red dragged its way down my arm from about halfway between my elbow and shoulder with a line of bright red blood continuing the trail down my hand to drip every few seconds from my fingers to the floor below. There was no pain. Whether that was my power suppressing it or the numbness that had claimed almost all feeling from the arm I was not sure but it unsettled me nonetheless. Pain was meant to warn us of damage and the lack of it to an injury generally meant it was serious. I had expected a sensation of panic to make itself known, for me to become short of breathe or begin franticly calling for help. On reflection I probably should have at least asked one of the other passengers for some tissues to help stop the bleeding, all I did however, was grit my teeth and clamp my hand over the cut to help minimalize the blood flow.

At home, I situated myself in the bathroom with a first aid kit and disposed of the shirt, it wasn't like I'd be able to use it again anyway and the impromptu bandage could help. I don't know whether I was relieved or disappointed when I yanked off the sleeve and saw that the wound, despite having bled significantly, was already sealed over with scab tissue. One part that did confuse and concern me however was the placement of the cut. I didn't know much about biology and what little I did know was largely based off of the few operation that my power had flashed through my mind, and most of those had to do with the addition of new organs and bionic limbs rather than placement of what was already there. It was from one of those procedures, a process to attach a metallic arm to be precise, that I knew what had been cut, the exact name escaped me but it was a major artery that ran through the arm. Another thing to stack up to my power then, because the procedure specified how likely a recipient was to die of blood lose if it was cut and left untreated for any length of time.

I very pointedly didn't mention school to dad when he got home and I supposed that the seething anger that smoldered throughout the day at those three showed, because he never asked. After dark, and a good hour after dad went to bed, I snuck my way down to the basement. Tonight, I would make my reveal to the world and a target had all but thrown itself in my way.

The struts that fixed my armor in place were unstable things, the walls not strictly designed with them in mind or the load they carried for that matter. One time too many for my tastes they stuttered instead of moving fluidly to attach the outer shell of my massive armor to the under-suit I had slipped into in preparation. I had taken special pains to ensure that they ran silently however, so noise was thankfully a non-issue. The only noise to be heard was the slight scrape of metal on metal as the plates were bolted into place and the occasional tisking or humming as I idly noted where and how the machinery could be improved and tweaked for maximum output. As the plates were attached I felt my senses expand to the armor itself via the sensory link, with that the armor was less a series of metal and ceramic plates and more of a second skin. As the helmet, a skull-shaped visage with red lenses that would glow when power was fed to them, was lowered and the tell-tale hiss of atmospheric sealing touched my ears my mind flooded briefly has the lenses flashed through the various low-light and heat-based filters. It was pleasant, despite the sense of being entombed that was only partly lifted from the sensory link. It was pleasant to finally be able to make use of all the work I had put in, to get a chance of making a difference.

My first few steps off of the platform I had stood upon to allow for the dawning of my armor were rocky. What must have totaled to well over a ton of mostly scavenged material making for quite the change to my sense of balance, to say nothing of the extra foot it added to my already considerable height. All the same, I adjusted quickly and walked to the bench I had set my weaponry upon, besides, I would have time to work out whatever kinks resulted from my lack of experience with the warplate as I went on patrol. Try though I might have been tempted to, there was no possible way I could make Forgebreaker or Fireblade with the supplies and tools I had to hand, especially in the short day that had passed since the dream that revealed their existence and the possibility of their creation to me.

Although they would never stand up to such titans of artistry and craftsmanship, I liked to think my own weapons of choice would do nicely. A large sword that was longer than my legs with a power-cell mounted near the hilt was my first weapon. A hammer would have been more appropriate but I as unable to puzzle out a way to adapt or change an existing piece of metal equipment into one that would be of a size to be used in the armor but I could still hit none-parahumans with the flat side and, so long as I was careful, the worst they would get was a broken bone or two. My second weapon had been and was continuing to be the more complicated of the two to construct and maintain. A bulky, box-like, twin barreled machine-gun. An ugly thing with what my power assured me would be a kick that stood a good chance of breaking the arm of whoever tried to fire it without assistance.

The ammunition was the tricky part, the original idea called for diamond tips and military-grade explosives, needless to say, that was and is far outside of my ability. I had been forced to improvise and had instead used standard metal and improvised low-grade explosives for the two magazines of lethal ammo, to only be used on brutes like Lung or Hookwolf, and had deliberately blunted the ends and left the explosive mechanism out for the non-lethal. It was still more likely than not to knock any given target onto their back and would stand a chance of breaking bones but it wouldn't kill without a particularly well-placed shot.

The sword and gun were both mag-locked to a band of metal around the waist of the armor and the three magazines went into pouches along the same belt. With the prep-work complete I knelt to one knee so as to provide as small of a profile as possible and thus minimize the chance of anything going wrong, and activated the teleporter beacon that I had placed previously several blocks away from the house, within an alley that would minimize the number of people that might see the bright flash. The flash was dimmed by the auto-adjusting lenses of the helm and after a second of weightlessness I felt myself settle in the same kneeling position in the alley I had previously deposited the beacon.

Under normal circumstances it would be a balancing act to choose which of the three to go after, what with the Empire having the most capes, the ABB having Lung, and the Merchants likely to be the hardest to track down due to a lack of cohesion. After all, while you could expect the so called 'professional' gangs to at least have a similar color scheme or theme the Merchants' only real unifying feature was that of being the refuse of society. After the incident at school however, my options were narrowed by my own anger at both the three thugs and my inability to truly fight back thanks to the situation. The Empire Eighty-Eight would be the first. With thoughts of avenging a wounded sense of pride, as strange as it was for me to have considered myself as having such a thing, I set a slightly plodding pace for the north side of town, to the area between where the north meets the docks.

On further reflection, perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to march into the highly contested and unofficial border between the ABB and the Empire. It had taken only fifteen odd minutes of marching with the sensors of the suit set at their maximum before I caught that I was being followed. Odd, considering I was just starting to get to the divide between the docks and the rest of the city and was not even on the right side for it to have been either Empire or ABB. All the same the motion tracking system –Auspex, it was supposedly called- began returning a fuzzy signal at the edge of its range, about a hundred and fifty feet, almost directly behind me. Every couple of seconds it would return or vanish from that same point. I had considered investigation, briefly. The armor was likely to be giving faulty returns with so many obstructions, and a quick pivot and turn revealed nothing outside of the usual. So, I turned and continued on, the continuation of the faulty return in the same exact place acting as confirmation.

Where the docks met the rest of the city the line was almost visible. Moderately well maintained shops and buildings of various kinds melted away into run down, condemned, dwellings over the course of a block. The docks were characterized by the rundown and poverty-stricken nature of its inhabitants and by being the territory of the ABB, an Asian gang led by the parahuman Lung. Despite frequent clashes with the Empire in the north and the Merchants in the west, the ABB had managed to maintain a stranglehold on the Docks and occasionally expanded into rival territories before being eventually beaten back by whoever they took the territory from. My parents had strictly warned me against going into the docks for any reason and looking at the state of even the outer layers of the docks, it was easy to see why.

One thing that struck me as odd, or at least a-typical for an area that was support to be a congregation for the homeless and downtrodden was the distinct lack of said homeless people. Maybe my impression of these sorts of areas had been informed to heavily by movies but I had expected more people sleeping in the streets or against buildings. Then again, maybe they had sought refuge in the abandoned buildings. With a prominent gang in the area and the winter, such as it was in Brockton Bay, adding a slight bite to the air it would hardly be out of the question and it wasn't like the technical owners were in any place to force them to leave.

My answer was as sudden as it was unwelcome. A second was all I had to register two glowing trails streaking toward me from several blocks down. No time to dodge, I partly turned so that the heavy armor on the shoulders would take the brunt of it. One of the flares detonated on a shield that flickered a scant few inches in front of the armor, the back blast of the detonation not even felt through the armor, while the second struck square in the armor of the shoulder.

My entire side rocked back with the force of the explosion and a distorted grunt of pain and discomfort made its way from the helm's Vox-speakers. Unbidden, my power asserted itself. The world stretched, becoming more vibrant than should have been possible. It was the work of a moment to right myself and even without the magnification lenses I spotted a group of men ducking into an alley, all four of them wearing Red and Green, the colors of the ABB.

The use of such weaponry was something avoided, from what I had been able to research, too hard to make and destructive enough that it drew unwanted attention. It didn't make any sense for them to be using that kind of weaponry, even on an unfamiliar cape. Further explosions sounded in the distance and it only took the heat detection a moment to lock onto a billowing cloud of smoke rising some blocks away.

The only damage I could see on the armor was a large scorch mark, barely visible over the Black and Silver of the paintjob. I would have to perform a more exhaustive check to make sure, but that was a thought for later. Now, it looked as though the gang war was back on. With that in mind, and the idea of getting some well-deserved retribution from both of the participants, I made pace for the smoke and sounds of explosions.

Running in the so called 'Tactical Dreadnought armor' was a challenge. Not due to stamina, the armor's inbuilt systems and the artificial muscles made running itself close to effortless. No, the challenge was the balancing act of making sure a suit of armor in excess of a ton and a half didn't go tumbling as it rocked from side to side. Taking turns was also not recommended as I found out as I tried to take a corner, one just shy of the size a semi-truck would probably be expected to take, and just barely avoided smashing bodily into the building on the far side of the turn. All the same, it made for good time and the crunching of cement and concrete beneath my feet brought a sense of catharsis in how powerful it made me sound.

The site I arrived at was one of carnage, Empire and ABB gangers fought each other with anything and everything they seemed to be able to get their hands on, some using bricks or baseball bats while others used guns of various kinds. Under most any other circumstance, I can safely say I would have tried fleeing from as quickly as possible.

A figure in black bodysuit with a red demon mask –Oni Lee, if I remembered correctly- was standing before a metallic monstrosity of spinning and whirring blades. The creature reared up on hind legs that ground into the street beneath it and slammed itself into the still figure of Oni Lee. The creature ripped and tore at the spot Lee had occupied before a series of explosions sounded and the creature –Hookwolf, if I had to guess- was thrown back some feet, with Lee reappearing some feet away to throw grenades at the downed wolf-like abomination before dissolving into a cloud of ash as one of the Empire goons nearby shot him through the head.

My arrival had drawn some unwanted attention as well. Several bullets pinged off of the armor, the shield not activating for such small arms fire. Each group of gangers seemed convinced I was on the other's side, with several of the Empire thus exclaiming invectives of various sorts and a few of the ABB making similar proclamations in faulty English or in one language or another I didn't recognize.

With only a second's hesitation I pulled the gun –Storm Bolter, I chided myself- flicked my eyes briefly to the magazine loaded within to confirm it was a none-lethal payload, and opened fire, aiming to spray down both sides and get them to withdraw. I was going to need space to deal with either Oni Lee or Hookwolf, if I could, a distant and quickly silenced part of my brain thought. The first pair of shots to be fired kick even more than I had expected, sending the shots and the next ones after them above the heads of the thugs. Some of them took it as a warning and either broke their current engagements for cover or began running outright, if that was what they were going to make of my error, I would let them.

A deliberate second's pause as I readjusted my aim. Then, I had the armor lock the arm and opened fire. The kick now just barely noticeable, all I had to do was aim and pull the trigger. A handful of the embattled gangers who had either not noticed my arrival or simply not cared were tossed several feet back as rounds impacted with them. A few crashing into the wall of the buildings they fought near or into one another.

Those that hadn't been caught in the first volley or ran before-hand now did so with the greatest of vigor, sprinting to alleyways or back down the streets. From one of the alleys closest to me the tip of an archaic RPG launcher flashed in the slight moonlight. At such a close range the back blast would be just as, if not more, likely to injure the one using it as it would be to hurt me. With that in mind, I turned the gun from the fleeing goons and fired at the same time as he did.

The explosion, similar to the previous one, rocked me backwards from the shoulder it hit. Another grunt of pain, echoed and distorted by the Vox, made itself known. A quick turn of my head to the alley confirmed that the ganger had been knocked back by my own barrage and hopefully saved from the worst of his own explosion as a result.

Not that I would have the time to check. A scrapping of blades on concrete drew my attention to Hookwolf, who was dragging himself out of a hole in a building he had been sent crashing into by another of Oni Lee's explosions. The concerning part, and wasn't that funny given the situation, was that Oni Lee was nowhere to be found. Piles of white ash littered the ground but no sign of the man himself.

I had been counting on them to either keep each other off balance or take each other out. Fighting either of them, especially Hookwolf, was something I'd rather avoid.

The wolf-like creature of blades reared up on its hind legs, standing now half again as tall as I did within my armor. The creature tilted its head back and, in a sound more like grating steel than anything a mortal throat could pull forth, roared.

 _ **Author's note:**_

Yes, I am in fact a bad person.

So, that was chapter three. Taylor has had her first interaction with the gangs, only possibly managed to avoid blowing her cover due to her power being just a little too good for its own good, and has managed to get into a fight with one of the strongest and most kill-happy parahumans in the city on her first night out. Hey, at least it wasn't Shadow Stalker, she wouldn't stand a chance then.

I had a few possible ways that I wanted to take this chapter and it took a while to decide and a few re-writes to fully decide (hence the lateness of this chapter), my apologies for that.

Also, to head off any comments: Yes, the armor she made is Terminator armor (the image I have in my head is the cataphractii pattern for those of you wondering). No, it's not a fully decked out set of the stuff. The armor is strong but not fully fitted (sensors are somewhat lacking, visor doesn't have all the functions, crux terminates equivalent not fully calibrated, all that fun stuff) but will serve well enough.

As for the dreams because I know someone will ask, she is seeing flashpoints of some of the big moments in Ferrus Manus's life. Some of said dreams/visions will be giving her inspiration (the latest one certainly did, and not just in the way you are thinking) while some are letting her get a better feel for the Primarch and his personality (plus it lets me draw occasional parallels … you will see what I mean by that later).

As always: I implore all of you to give whatever criticism you can find, be it with my grammar or knowledge of either side's lore.

I thank you for dedicating a moment of your time to reading this.

Yours, Miria the Phantom


	4. Chapter 4 Interlude

_**Chapter 4**_

 _ **Interlude**_

It had been Emma's idea, her idea to push the Hebert girl further and further. I had gone along, after all, the prospect of getting some of my aggression out was promising and the idea of creating a few more wolves among the incapable sheep seemed a tantalizing one. The girl was weak, a foolish girl who had been sheltered from the world and from conflict. It started small: taunts and insults, the occasional rumor. At first she reacted and I will admit I drew some pleasure from it but soon she stopped. She began to ignore or play at being oblivious to us and our efforts. Naturally, we escalated. Reaching deeper in our little bag of tricks and insults, even bringing in others; Emma using her influence to ensure classmates wouldn't be willing to hang out with or cover for her, while I ensured she would have no place among the so called 'athletes'.

It was a slow process, one that spanned the course of two and a half years by this point. There were points where I had wanted to move on, pick someone else or find a person more likely toughen up, but Emma insisted each time that we not. She insisted each time that 'Taylor will come around' that 'Sooner or later she'll realize, she be like us' so I indulged her. I must admit, the physicality I brought to it delighted me, the same rushing of blood and adrenaline that I got whenever I was in a fight, just without the possibility of being truly injured.

All things change and all things adapt, if they don't want to die. So, as time went on, Hebert gradually stopped responding to just about anything we did. Whenever Madison and her cronies taunted or jibbed at her she simply ignored it. Ignored and never fired back, which was annoying. Whenever Emma cooked up another amusing rumor or bit of gossip, again, she didn't react. I think it was when she stopped responding to my own attempts that I truly began to lose my patience. A push down the stairs, a few punches or kicks when no one who would care or feel obligated to stop it was around, when nothing I was capable of doing short of causing permanent damage worked, that was when my temper began to fray.

I again confronted Emma and this time was far more insistent. 'We should pick someone else.' I had said, 'That piece of shit wet blanket of yours isn't getting any better and you know how I hate weaklings like her. So why are we wasting our time on her?' I had probably said more than that. In fact, I can distinctly remember ranting at Emma that her little pet project was getting us nowhere and that it had become such a chore that I wasn't seeing a point in continuing.

At first, it had looked like I had Emma convinced but, inevitably, she had suggested something else. 'You know how winter break is coming up?' she had asked, that smirk she always got when she came up with a good idea sliding into place.

'Yea,' I had responded, 'what of it? Not like a week's break is gonna soften her back up.' She was thinking of something, that tended to be amusing but I wasn't all that interesting in entertaining whatever it was she would purpose.

'Oh, come on. Just hear me out here.' She had pushed, with that same vaguely annoying sense of- what, desperation? Obligation? - That same annoying insistence she had whenever the Hebert girl came up.

I made a note to tease her about her little obsession later, but responded all the same. If nothing else, Emma came up with some pretty funny pranks. 'Fine, fine. What is it that you have planned this time? A little bit of a house call? Maybe a little shower on her first day back?'

She had slung an arm around my shoulders with a little giggle. 'Dear, sweet Sophia. You still have so much to learn.' She had leaned in and whispered the plan to me. I have to admit, I was impressed and just a little disturbed that Emma had come up with a plan like that so quickly. There was a distant thought that it might be going just a little far, that it might be a little too close to a trigger event for being strictly speaking healthy, but that thought was outweighed by the thought that a stick like Hebert wouldn't make much of a parahuman. Hell, if she did become one then it would be mission accomplished, so long as she didn't fall in with the Wards. Another wolf to manage the sheep and a possibility for another vigilante to keep the streets clear while the PRT sat around with its thump up its ass.

Besides, if the Hebert girl wouldn't improve on her own, then upping the ante would solve that problem for her.

The execution of Emma's plan largely falling to me was something I should have seen coming. After all, I was the only one who could get into her locker without damaging anything or being noticed. So, a few hours after school was out I re-entered the building and set about my task. Shoveling all the disgusting shit from the various waste disposal units was a pain in the ass before the smell ever came into it. All the same it was something that would be well worth it if it paid off. The promise of another hunter was tantalizing, another person who would actually be doing _something_ about all the bullshit that was allowed to go on in the city. Even if that didn't pan out, it would be all the reason I needed to finally steer Emma off of her little obsession and help the both of us to find a new hobby.

Spring break itself passed uneventfully. A few more meetings and the occasional spar with a few of the other wards. The little brat managed to piss me off, as she always did with her little schoolyard crush on Gallant. Kid Win and Armsmaster were both thankfully preoccupied with their various programs and tests. Worst thing that happened was Aegis and Gallant trying to be buddy-buddy with me, again, which ended with me very nearly telling them exactly where they could shove all of their little misconceptions about us being friends. Emma was at least tolerable. No long-winded rants about her little amateur modeling career, I think she got the message that I wasn't interested about the first time I started ranting back about just how little I cared, No talks about Taylor beyond going over a few details about the prank, nothing stressful.

The day school resumed, now that was an interesting one. The plan had been fully worked out: Emma would use her skills with people, skills I wholly lack even now, to make sure those that saw what would happen wouldn't be speaking of it, not that much convincing would we needed. Winslow is a shit-hole at the best of times, something like this would just be a slightly more public than usual display of that simple fact. Madison, our own little wet blanket, but she had some bite to her so I kept her around in spite of her lack of backbone, said she didn't want to be directly involved. I had wanted to get on her about that, cowardice was hardly fitting for anyone who didn't want to be trodden on, but Emma verbally danced around the both of us before I had the chance. She convinced Madison she only had to be present, 'You don't have to _do_ anything, just stand by and watch. It'll help drive the point home.' She had said something to that effect and hey, if it kept her around and kept her from interfering, I was fine with that. I naturally would be the one doing the heavy lifting, again. It had been at my insistence that I would be the one to shove Hebert in because I was the one who had to do all of the prep work for it, so naturally I deserved the catharsis of doing the deed.

Hebert had acted just like we thought. Despite being able to smell the stuff from half the school away she still walked right up to the thing to investigate. Even from down the hall where we waited, the stench of a week's worth of rot nearly made even me recoil out of seer disgust. It hit the Hebert girl harder, by how she immediately started retching before bending down and losing her lunch. A nod from Emma signaled my time, not that I needed that to be pointed out. I ran up behind Hebert and shoved her into the locker. Her hand or foot must have found some sort of hold because she just wouldn't get into the damn box. Being around the thing, even for as long as I was, made me sure I'd need to take a half-dozen showers if I ever wanted to feel clean again. So, naturally, I shoved all the harder. She might have been fighting for all she had but all it did was prolong how much time I needed to spend to force her in, no one was coming, the teachers couldn't be paid to give a damn even if it wasn't me doing it and there was no way my years of fighting the menaces of society tooth and nail would let me loose to some twig. I was finally able to force her in after a few moments struggle, entirely too many moments struggle if you ask me, and slammed the door shut on her.

Predictably, the banging started shortly after. Not that anyone cared. Well, not anyone who would do anything about it. I couldn't muster up the energy to doubt or be concerned about the look that crossed Emma's face, however briefly, when the banging was joined by increasingly frantic yelling. It would all be worth it, I had told myself, so long as there were more people to hold back the lowlifes and murderers who plagued the city. And really, if I was willing to do things like this to ensure a better tomorrow, the least someone like Hebert could do if it worked was be willing to stand alongside me against the real threats. Those two years wouldn't be spent just to appease Emma's need for her old friend to join her, they would be for the city, the greater good.

For plausible deniability, not that it was needed as Emma's dad and my status would let us get away with anything so long as we didn't confess to it, we left shortly to our respective classes.

Word passed quickly, especially to Emma, that Taylor had been taken to the hospital to be treated for several injuries related to the locker. Minorly concerning but nothing I worried myself over. If she was strong now then she would pull through, besides, Panacea made the hospitals her own little haunt, so the chances of anything serious happening to her were slim. All the same, that meant that my usual method of stress relief was going to be gone for another few weeks. The local gangs could use a little culling every now and then, whether by capes or by simple 'concerned citizens'.

When Taylor had finally returned it had been business as usual, albeit I was holding back on her just a tad. It would be best to see if she had grown that backbone in a situation that didn't involve learning she could now shoot lightning or something ridiculous like that.

Naturally, I was left annoyed at her continued lack of response to any of our pokes and barbs but I held that anger in, it was perfectly reasonable that a parahuman wouldn't flaunt their nature or use their powers flagrantly. What made me very nearly lose my temper was when some kid gave me the news that she had been sent home due to, of all things, a panic attack. After holding in the urge to beat the nearest vaguely gang-looking student black and blue, I tried my hand at explaining that away. Trigger events were, as a rule, very traumatic for the person in question. It was the only topic that I had made clear to Emma on the outset of our little friendship to never ask about, and for good reason. Maybe being around the same place and the same people had her nerves acting up, not a great sign but the idea of this still being a work in progress was manageable. The idea of another week-long wait however? That would cost some Empire bastard a few broken bones.

Over the next few days of boredom and Wards-related time wasting the though kept nagging at me that I had been too hard on the Hebert girl. The idea that a trigger event wasn't something that should be forced on someone and that it would be even worse if she didn't get powers from what happened. Where these thoughts had been before, I had no idea but they pissed me off. Of course it wasn't something that should be forced on someone with no good reason, but this wasn't some act of needless cruelty, this was to toughen her up and to possibly give the city a better chance of not being turned into an even bigger shithole than it already was. It was something that had to happen. Besides, I had held up fine with mine, why should she not have to work through something similar if she couldn't find it in her before to stand on her own two feet. Sometimes the bird just needed to be kicked out of the nest to finally learn to fly properly. Still, for some reason the idea of hurting Taylor continued to not sit right and that made me all the more pissed off as the week continued. By the end of it I was half ready to try giving the girl a house call, if I had I'm not sure if it would have been to check if she was okay or to make damn sure she _had_ gotten powers.

Still, my anger kept me aware, and that was a good thing in my line of work. Another gang war between the Empire and the ABB was a certainty and awareness would help keep me in one piece.

My desire to see if my efforts bare fruit led to me asking Emma to create a little rumor to spread around. Partly out of frustration and partly out of a need to confirm that Taylor really had gotten powers had me do something I enjoyed doing whenever the opportunity presented itself, using the Empire to my own benefit. They had long since stopped listening to her, she spent too much of her time around me for them to consider her anything but a 'race-traitor' but they didn't pay much mind to the fact that between us and Madison we had most of the school wrapped around our fingers. It would be easy to just make sure they heard the rumor from someone other than our usual groupies. A classmate who supposedly had ties to the ABB had apparently helped out Taylor when she had her little episode, so that would make good fodder. A few little whispers about the 'real' reason the ABB member had been willing to help her out and the skinhead morons would be all too willing to test the waters.

On her next day back we left things alone, rather, I left things alone and told Emma to do that same. Naturally, a few of the sycophants didn't get the memo but they were so used to the retinue that I doubt they would have known what to do if they had been told they couldn't start the day by mocking Hebert.

It didn't take long for word to be relayed to Emma, and thus to me, that a few of the local Empire kids were going to try going after Hebert. During the last quarter of Quinlan's class, apparently. Around the time when the little confrontation was to take place both Emma and myself excused ourselves from our respective classes for one reason or another, an aching muscle from track in my case, and got ready for the aftermath.

Exactly what happened in the classroom we were not able to see, at least not until later when one of the kids that had been recording lent Emma her phone. That's not to say either of us were unaware of the confrontation as it unfolded. Time spent dealing with the various gangs of the city made for sharp hearing and the clatter of something heavy hitting the floor was easily recognizable. A proclamation, though muffled by the door and distance, reaffirmed my thoughts about Taylor, she really had found her spine. What sounded like a brief conversation was followed by a few moments silence, during which the bell rang and the slow trickle of kids through the halls rendered anything else said indecipherable, before a few muffled sounds of struggle and a loud crash signified the end of the confrontation. It was simply a question of who would walk out.

A few other students had gathered outside of the classroom due to the noise, some knowing what had been due to happen while others were probably just curious what all the noise was about.

When Taylor Hebert walked out of the door, back straightened, she looked inspiring in a way, at least to me. She wasn't slouching, wasn't whining, and didn't even seem to notice the patch of red slowly making its way down her sleeve from what looked to be a pretty nasty cut. Mission accomplished! There was no way that a wet blanket like Taylor could be acting like that if she didn't have powers.

She didn't stop, marching herself towards one of the exits to the school. She did, however, turn and stare directly at both myself and Emma. If I needed anything else to back up my suspicions, then the look in her eyes did it. Calculating, analyzing, and not cowering away like she always would before.

I almost wished she would have walked up and said something, just to make it official. Then again, my blood always ran hot after a fight and if she was going to be another guardian, it wouldn't do for us to be at each other's throats so quickly. Still, if she kept acting like that I could see us getting along very well indeed.

 _ **Line break**_

Giddy might have been too childish a term for it but I was incredibly eager to see just what sort of person Taylor had become now that she had some real power. So, I decided to pay her a little visit that night. It may have been skirting the edge of the unwritten rules but those only counted if anyone knew, just like any rule. Besides, not like she would know about the rules yet anyway, I only learned about them myself after joining the wards.

I was in full costume, situated on top of one of the buildings half a block or so away from the Hebert house. I had been half-laying in the same spot for the better part of an hour, waiting to make sure her father was asleep when I felt something off. A small sensation in the back of my head, like lightning running through my brain, not painful, almost relieving in fact. A flash, so quick I almost missed it, came from an alley a few blocks away.

It wasn't that unusual for people to make quick trips out of their homes in this part of town, a few years of patrolling were more than enough to know that, but this was too bright for something like that. No door opening would shine that much light out of the alley in question. I was tempted to go after the light and hold off on my little house call when a thudding sounded out of the alley.

This area was way too far out of the way for any of the big hitters to be around. Reflexively I reached to one of my crossbows, just because it was unlikely didn't mean they wouldn't be here. I had brought only a few shots of my sharpened bolts, never hurt to be prepared, but even those would have a hard time against most of the capes who could make those sorts of sounds.

What wandered its way out onto the road wasn't quite what I was expecting. A large suit of armor that looked like what Armsmaster might make if he ever tried to go for the 'knight' look. Probably standing six or seven feet tall, the thing looked like it weighed a ton. From the sound, it probably did. Two weapons, a large sword and a gun of some kind, looked to be hanging off its belt.

Instead of looking around for something or taking stock of where it was, the thing turned towards the docks, and set off. Thudding its way down the street.

Hebert could wait, assuming this wasn't Hebert. This called for some investigating.

 _ **Line Break**_

How no one else heard the constant rumbling the suit made as it thudded its way to the docks, I had no idea. In the minutes I spent following it, shadowing from the rooftops and using my power to glide between them when needed, the thing never ceased making those crunching noises as it walked.

Suddenly and without warning the armor pivoted and turned its face in my direction. I was only just able to duck behind one of the guard-walls before it would have seen me. Not my first time tailing someone but generally the target would be a bunch of gang members who were too stupid to think of looking up. I waited a few moments, when the rumpling resumed I continued following. Probably just force of habit, especially if this was indeed Hebert.

The clouds obscured almost any light from the moon as we entered the docks. Night vision helped with that, as did the higher vantage point. With it I was able to see what looked to be a few ABB members setting up an ambush ahead, probably on the lookout for Empire or Merchants members. The streets were free of the usual bums and lowlifes, which was generally the first clue that something was about to go down. Not sure if it was the gangs spreading word beforehand so the civilian casualties wouldn't be too bad or if you just got a sense for when conflict was brewing after living on the streets but regardless, an abandoned street, especially in the docks, usually meant a gang war was brewing.

It was only when two of the men took aim with what looked like some old military launchers that the full meaning struck me. The war wasn't brewing, it had already started.

The only other times the ABB had risked bringing out heavy guns like that was when they were expecting the Empire to come in force. Hookwolf and the two giants couldn't be killed by them, they had tried often enough whenever they decided they needed to have one of their dick measuring contests, but it still slowed them down. If they were trying to buy time for Lung, then it would only be because he was already fighting elsewhere.

The rockets launched and sped their way down the road towards Hebert. Whether she saw the ones who had shot them or not, and I suspected not as she didn't even attempt to dodge, just tilted to one side so the armor would take the brunt. Depending on the one who made it Tinkertech armor could do quite a bit, I had seem Armsmaster shrug off being blasted by Lung and survive being shot by Purity. Whatever kind of armor Taylor had put together, it seemed to be on the higher end, as one of the rockets detonated before actually reaching her bathing the armor in flames but failing to do any noticeable damage beyond scorching the paint. The second knocked the armor back, not unusual for an explosive, but aside from a distorted rumbling from the armor's speakers there was no reaction, and the armor righted itself with rather disconcerting speed. That was definitely for the best, having two years' worth of work wasted would have been beyond infuriating.

Further explosions sounded in the distance. 'Yep,' I had thought, 'definitely a full on gang war.'

I'm pretty sure she spotted the ones who shot her as they ran into one of the alleys, probably going to warn others that a new cape was on their way. Her response was something I hadn't been anticipating. The armored suit looked incapable of anything other than walking speed, too heavy and too poorly balanced for anything else. So, naturally, I was a little taken aback when the armor began a loping sprint down the street, tearing up the pavement behind it.

I actually had to start sprinting myself in order to keep up, something that track helped infinitely with. Running, then leaping, using my power to glide between the larger gaps, before setting down in a run and doing it all over again to keep up with the armor. I was only marginally helped when it almost failed to take a turn, narrowly avoiding crashing into one of the buildings in the process.

The sight that greeted her, and me when I caught up, was a pretty large-scale engagement of ABB and Empire, with Oni Lee and Hookwolf fighting on the far side of it to us. If it weren't for the two parahumans this would be my ideal fight, lots of targets who I wouldn't need to hold back on and who I wouldn't have to waste my time justifying myself to my teammates about afterward.

But I was here to observe, at least for now, so that was what I would do. That and possibly give probably-Taylor some words of wisdom, if she earned it. Besides, it's not the same as being in the fight yourself but watching one can be entertaining, certainly far more so than all of the waiting as of late had been. With that in mind, I set myself into a somewhat comfortable position from which I could watch the show, and observed.

The first rounds fired from the massive gun not-Taylor was using went high. A good scare tactic. Personally, I would have used the sword, maybe knocked a few of them around first to make sure they were paying attention before going all out. Then again, some people just aren't good enough to show over, and first timers almost never are. The second burst hit a few of them though and from the knocking and cracking sounds that followed, a few of them would be needing a little time-off after this. Willing to actually hurt the criminals instead of letting them go, that's good in my book.

As the idiots ran for the hills I noticed that Oni Lee was getting cold feet, little bastard never liked to stick around without minions or his boss. He had blown Hookwolf through a wall and the current him was chucking more grenades into the hole after the wolf-construct, but I was willing to bet that him would dissolve in a few seconds.

Another explosion sounded, and I shifted to my shadow state on reflex. I had almost been caught in an explosion before, very painful. Looking down, it appeared that one of the ABB members had stuck around. He was currently laying on his back, cradling what looked like a broken arm, inside an alley that joined with the road at right about the junction the armor had been standing. Again, despite being hit dead on, as near as I could tell anyway, the armor looked no worse for wear.

On the other hand, it looked as though the explosion had drawn Hookwolf's attention. He dragged himself out of the hole he had been blasted into, looked around briefly, probably for Oni Lee, before settling on a new opponent.

Now this would be interesting. A nice little test to see if the project was worth all the time I had put into it. 'Hell,' I thought. 'If she puts on a good show, I might just save her when he beats her.'

Hookwolf reared up, towering over the armor, and roared. Typical of him, he was strong and liked to show that off, not so unlike myself on that front, I just had skill to relay on as opposed to just my power. Surprisingly, the speakers on the armor answered, garbled and distorted, but a battle-cry all the same. I felt my own pulse quicken, the urge to respond in kind warring with my desire to see what would happen.

As Hookwolf charged, Taylor drew the sword that had rested on her belt and thumbed a button half-hidden from my view on the hilt. The effect was immediate, trails of electricity flickered over the blade and a soft hummed could be heard, even from my perch; from which I was watching with rapt attention.

As the wolf closed with his mark the armor showed me again that it was far quicker than it looked, dancing to one side and dragging the blade across one of Hookwolf's arms, coming close to severing the thing at what resembled an elbow. The blade leaving a trail of melted and fused metal behind. Of course, Hookwolf was also a lot quicker than he looked, and it appeared this was just as surprising to Taylor as her own speed was to Hookwolf. Despite a wound that would have had even most Brutes pausing, Hookwolf simply turned and lashed out with a claw, while the wounded one generated more blades to 'heal' itself, such as a creature of blades healed, at any rate.

The blow caught the armor just below the helmet, where the neck would be normally, with a terrible scratching of metal on metal and the whole suit lurched back for a moment. The arm that had been holding the oversized gun came back around, this time empty, closed in a fist that impacted solidly with what amounted to Hookwolf's face. More sounds of screeching metal filled the air, shrill and almost painful in how encompassing it was, as Hookwolf moved forward to seize on his advantage, wrapping his mostly healed arm around the suit in a simulacrum of a hug.

One arm trapped above the head and one arm trapped at the side, an exact case of what to avoid in any sort of melee combat. That was always a painful lesion, whether taught in public or private. Another lesson was to never let your weapon be out of use, a lesson that as being learned well. I really didn't want to get involved so soon but those mistakes would see the end of the fight in a matter of moments. It would just be a matter of Hookwolf's blades finding or making a weakness in the armor. With that in mind I reached down to my crossbows and withdrew from my back pouch a pair of tipped bolts. Not what I would normally carry while in costume, it violated my probation after all, but the prospect of meeting a parahuman, especially a Tinker, in their own home had been reason enough to be prepared. I took aim, had to be careful, my power would make sure the arrows really did hurt Hookwolf but they could just as easily pass through the armor and hurt or kill the person inside. 'Wouldn't that be fun to explain to Piggot?' I mussed as I lined up the shot.

Just as I began to depress the trigger, a shot that would have both arrows materializing inside of Hookwolf's head, not enough to kill him but certainly enough to make him let go, something odd happened. The armor lurched forward, its helmet colliding with Hookwolf's snout with a crack. Normally, that sort of thing would barely buy a second, assuming you didn't tear your face off on him. In this case, for a reason beyond me, he howled in agony, roiling back and letting go entirely from his quarry. The reason itself made clear a second later, as he thrashed around the blade that was embedded in his torso.

A wide swipe of a claw was ducked under, something I would have not thought possible in such large armor but something I was willing to accept in light of the other surprises it seemed to contain. The retaliation was swift and painful, the blade's handle was gripped and wretched upwards, lopping off the arm and taking a chunk of the shoulder and torso with it. The other hand came around to grip the construct by it's throat and pushed, forcing the creature onto its back with a reverberating crash.

'She might not need as much help as I thought.' I thought, bemused and more than a little impressed. The comeback had been unexpected, but it was merely a recovery from what could easily have been a fatal screw-up. She wasn't hopeless, which was good, but could be improved.

The sword, electricity still dancing on its blade, came down and cleaved the Wolf's head from its shoulders. The body stilled, limbs that had been clawing at the pavement falling slack, but the metal that made up the body not retracting or falling off.

Hookwolf wasn't that easy to kill. Armsmaster had done similar damage before. Hell, I'd done similar damage a few times. Playing dead was a nice tactic, if it worked, and on a rookie it probably would. 'This is perfect.' I thought as I pulled myself fully up onto the divide. 'I even get to get in a few hits myself.' The way it was looking, I could probably get at least partial credit for bringing in Hookwolf, something to rub in Piggot's face if she got uppity about me being out and about without the rest of the team.

The armor turned around, looking toward the gun it had dropped, when Hookwolf struck. His remaining claw shredding the back of one of the knees in the armor. I couldn't see the damage but the response was plain to hear. I only just resisted the urge to shield my ears from the furious roar that was only amplified by the armor's speakers. The armor swiped the sword back around taking off Hookwolf's remaining claw in a shower of sparks.

I chose that time to make myself known, my form flickered as I entered my shadow state, the feeling of air rushing through my being was an energizing one as I fired both shots into Hookwolf's legs. The arrows flew, wispy in their own right, entering the mass of spinning blades that acted as his legs, before fulling reentering reality, eliciting a scream of pain. Taylor kept hacking at Hookwolf as he writhed in pain, removing each leg before continuing to hack away at the torso.

I was of half a mind to stop her. Killing Hookwolf would cause problems with the Empire, especially when they learned she was an independent, moreover, it might encourage her to go to the Wards for protection. Saving scum like him was pointless, it wasn't like he would be grateful. He would just come back later with more people, at best he would continue on as usual away from whoever hurt him. 'Then again, what better way to get her in my debt?' Emma's talent for manipulation might have been rubbing off on me.

I jumped from the building, shifting into shadows to glide the last few feet to the ground before reforming. She stopped her attack on Hookwolf, and what little of him that wasn't molten slag slumped on the ground. The armor turn awkwardly, obviously favoring one leg. The voice that came from the armor was distorted, a lot deeper than the voice of the operator. "You have been following me." With the distortion it was hard to say if that was a question or a statement, all the same, I got the impression that the glowing red lenses were glaring balefully at me. "Why?"

'To see if you are worth my time.'

I didn't say that of course, picking a fight wasn't the reason I was here. At least, now it wasn't. Instead I adopted the same casual tone I always did when speaking to the other Wards. With a shrug of my shoulders I said. "Saw a new cape was in town. What can I say, I got curious."

What would be the best way of confirming my suspicions? I could always try asking outright but that could go very badly. Maybe bring it up out of costume? Less likely to result in a fight but possibly even worse.

"You are one of the Wards, Shadow Stalker, correct?" The echoing voice that came from the armor was just a little creepy. All the same, it was always good to get a cape's name.

"Yea, you got it." I nodded at her. "And you? I know I've never seen you before."

"I-" The voice descended into a mess of crackling that sounded like someone blowing into a mic. It was quiet for a moment, the armor shifting its weight from leg to leg every few seconds, before it spoke again. "I am the Gorgon."

Not a bad name, better than a lot of first-timers now that I thought about it. Certainly better than 'Kid Win'. I'm liking her more and more. Doesn't give away her power either, at least I can't see how it would.

A few seconds more were spent in silence, with me mulling over how best to approach the subject and her just standing and staring. The lurch of the armor setting itself in motion was unsettling in some way I couldn't quite pin down. Taylor, Gorgon, trotted her way back toward her fallen gun before clipping it back onto the belt of her armor. An idea struck. "Why don't we continue this conversation elsewhere? With all the noise your fighting caused I'll be surprised if half the Empire isn't headed this way." To punctuate my point I nodded toward one of the nearby alleyways.

She followed as I made my way toward and into one of the alleys. Where exactly it led I wasn't sure, but it would lead away from what otherwise would have been a close to impossible fight. After a few minutes of walking, occasionally crossing into a different alley or changing direction to help throw off any potential pursuers, I stopped and did what I did best. A nice and direct question. "Your name, you're Taylor Hebert, aren't you." This wasn't a good idea, not by any stretch, but the alley gave me plenty of room to run if I had to and the question would throw her off.

Her hand tightened over her sword but that was the only response. After a moment she spoke, the speakers making it echoed and distant but the voice it hid seemed clinical. "Teen, black, athletic, rebel." That could be bad. All traits I possessed in both my identities, ones I made no secret of or attempt to hide; what would be the point. Me knowing her secret gave me the advantage, her knowing mine would put me on the back foot. The voice spoke again, clipped, restrained, the echo slight and drowned out by the voice itself. "Tell me, Hess. Tell me exactly why?"

This wasn't something I was good at. Talking to people was never something I was good at, especially after getting my powers, I didn't have the temper to put up with people or the ability to convincingly explain why I did something. I saw how things were and acted based on that. That was part of the reason I kept things simple with Emma: the strong survive and thrive, the weak flounder and die it was that was simple. So how was I supposed to explain my reasons here? The truth would be complicated and only loose me an ally, someone who could help me change things, while a lie convincing enough to fool her wasn't something I could just think up on the spot, one of the reasons I kinda liked Emma. The truth then, with a few minor changes. I opened my mouth to respond when I was cut off.

"No, never mind. I don't want to know." The speakers were a growl, a mix of static and the familiar restrained anger that so succinctly summed up my thoughts of her before the change. "You aren't here with the others." The Wards?

"Of course I'm not. Useless fuckers don't want us getting involved in anything real, 'too dangerous' they keep saying." I snapped back. Talking about the Wards was a good way to get my blood boiling, nothing ever seemed to get done in my time with them. No real villains stopped, no fighting the real threats, just pretty crimes and occasionally running assistance for the so called 'real heroes' in the Protectorate.

A droning hum of static was the response. "Then why are you here, now? Why follow me and interfere?" And she just had to keep bringing it back to that, even when she wanted to avoid it. So many topics that pissed me off and she seemed determined to hit them all as quickly as possible.

I clamped down on my temper, I needed this help if I wanted to get things done. I needed her, another cape, to help strike against the threats to the city that the PRT was unwilling or unable to go after. "The weak die, the strong survive. I wanted to make sure you were strong." More simple than I would have liked but Speaking was never my strong point, convincing people doubly so. "Now that you are, I don't want you making the same mistake I did. The PRT the Protectorate, the Wards, they're all useless. Nothing but a bunch of managers and planners, more concerned with looking like they're doing anything than actually bringing down the villains or improving things. I want things to change, the city to get better, or at least not keep sinking like it has been." I made sure to leave out that I hadn't exactly been willing in my joining of the Wards, that wasn't the point.

"So what I'm hearing," The voice's cadence hadn't changed, still sounding observational rather than accusing, with the ever-present rumbling echo adding weight to every word. "Is that you did everything you did, to create change? For some greater good."

I nodded.

Both of her hands clenched and the faint smell of sulfur stung at my nose, a gout of static from the mask that sounded like someone taking a deep breath, then she spoke. This time in a voice slightly different to her own, almost like she was trying to do an impression. "Make war, and move on, and again, and again, until nothing breathes which stands against us. All else is sophistry and pretty lies." She sagged in her armor, as if saying those words had drained her more than the battle with Hookwolf, or maybe her injuries were finally catching up with her.

Her free hand reached up and tugged the helmet from one side to the other. On the third tug a slight hiss was heard and the helm came off. The by now quite familiar curtain of hair spooled out first. Then the helmet itself was lifted out of the way and I fully beheld my new- what, partner? Benefactor?- My new fellow hero. She looked more, somehow, the same lips that were too wide for her face, the same eyes too big for her head, just greater in some unrecountable way.

A large hand was held out. It took me a moment to realize what she was trying to do, but when I did I reached up, unbuckled the bits that held my mask in place and removed it. My hand joined hers in a handshake that was too tight to be call comfortable, which was probably intentional. "I will give you a chance, Hess. But only one. The city is bigger than either of us." Without the modulator or whatever it was in her helmet it was plain to hear how she was speaking through gritted teeth and her face looked like she had swallowed a lemon. It brought a little smirk to my face.

"Sure thing Hebert. So long as we can go after the real threats here." This didn't go nearly as badly as I had thought.

When we donned our masks again and parted ways, her to presumably return home and me to get back before mother noticed I had left without telling her, again. It was later that night, when I finally urged myself to sleep, that something odd happened.

A cramped metal room, packed with injured, the dead and dying laying wherever room could be made. A great battle- no, a slaughter- had taken place, against an enemy I could only remember with the vaguest of details. Small men in uniforms rushed around giving what aid they could to men in large sets of black armor. A man, clad in white armor and with a symbol of healing upon his chest spoke to me, I remembered him from somewhere, an old friend. One who had been alongside me for many years.

One of the smaller men exchanged words with me, he was white as a sheet while I was put out from the battle, unable to find within myself amusement in the man's fretting. He fumbled about, trying to figure out how best to remove portions of my armor without making the wound worse. I pulled a few clamps and loosened a few screws, causing most of the plate to clatter to the ground, before tearing off the body-glove each of us warriors wore beneath. An emblem caught, the metal having been fused to the skin during the fighting, the man said something but I found myself unable to care, simply pulling the metal off with the surrounding skin in a spattering of chunks of flesh. The man- boy, now that the vague sense of pain was stimulating my senses- looked a little green at that. From the looks of it, it was hardly the worst injury in the room.

The boy produced a bonesaw and began cutting into the flesh of my arm, just below the hand. I instinctively tried to stop him but the dream continued on unimpeded, I needn't have bothered, there was no pain. My hand, which now that I looked upon it was a mangled mess of cartilage and bone, was something I knew was fixable, or at least replaceable.

After a few more cuts I told him to put down the saw before looking over the screen he had been studying. I could make no sense of the thing, too many extra organs and parts to be a normal human. All the same, the me of the dream seemed to understand it. After a few moments of glancing I felt myself nod and I slid the screen away from me. I bent over, to where my sword lay alongside its sheath and my gun- Bolter, I recalled dimly- I simply braced my ruined hand against the end of a metal table I had been leaning against and leveraged the blade down, lopping off the hand in one swift motion.

 _ **A** **uthor's note**_ :

And so the first curve-ball has been thrown.

I am rather curious as to feedback on my writing for Sophia and how I handled Taylor in the third person. Yes, I know that it is rather unlikely that Taylor would go along with Sophia in most cases, consider that to be a bit of Ferrus's work. After all, the quote says it all.

This interpretation of Sophia, I think, has some merit with the actual character and in Worm itself. (She was clearly an egotist who thought nothing of pushing around those weaker than her but at the same time she did choose to be a hero rather than a villain.) By the same note, as you could probably tell from the narration, I am not trying to be apologetic for her, merely showing a tendency that the great crusade and the Primarchs had. That being that people who you might not necessarily _want_ to work with or have work for you were sometimes needed in order to achieve something greater.

And yes, that vision Sophia got is from one of the Horus Heresy books, abbreviated for time and the sake of not feeling like I'm stealing an actual author's work. As to why I had her have a vision from that character and not one of the others (such as the first captain or the former legion-master) is my familiarity with that particular character. (and yes, I am stretching my wording a bit to avoid saying who 'that' character is.)

Also: yay, first attempt at implementing a Primarch quote. I wasn't quite sure if that was the best place to put that in but I figured it was the best way short of interjecting into the actual chapter (a very bad thing to do in most any case) that Taylor's reasons for allowing Sophia her chance aren't entirely her own. I was debating giving her a different vision with a quote from a certain 'religiously minded' Primarch, but that would give a little too much of my plan away, now wouldn't it?

Of course, exactly how well Taylor is going to take being influenced by her shard like that is something else to look forward to.

I also want to mention that my keyboard had been acting up lately (more so than usual) and seems to have acquired the habit of occasionally skipping inputs. If you happen to notice something like that, kindly let me know so I can fix it. I have re-read this chapter a good two or three times but I do tend to miss things, so it would be appreciated.

And as always: Please critic whatever problems you believe the story has (be it my prose, characterization, or anything else) kindly make said criticisms known so that I may improve and possibly correct said problems. I do not particularly care if said critic is delivered tactfully or blatantly, in fact I prefer the latter, I simply want to improve and a tough lesson taught is one remembered.

Yours, Miria the Phantom


	5. Chapter 5 Mini-chapter

_**Author's note:**_ This is a mini-chapter. It was originally going to be the first part of chapter five (similar to how the flashback and fight at school were the first part of chapter three) but I found that this part didn't mesh well with the rest of it and that the notes for it wouldn't be relevant to the rest of the chapter. Due to those reason I have released this bit on its own. (It also attempts to answer some questions posed in various reviews)

As an aside: I would ask that people read the author's notes, as they tend to help explain things that I cannot directly address within the chapter itself (It might be a bit spoiler-y depending on the chapter) due to the restrictions of character knowledge. 

_**Chapter 5**_

I wasn't one to anger quickly, not about most things, and even less so after the locker. All the same, I found a great catharsis as my mailed fist crunched into a half-collapsed wall, the vibrations of which visibly shook the unstable structure. A shout of "God-Dammit" that roared over the Vox felt good as well, or at least did something to begin to ease a rage I felt bubbling within my chest. Sophia Fucking Hess. My other hand shot out, the sword's power field cleaving another section of half-collapsed wall in two.

It wouldn't have been so bad if it were just her, just that she was a hero. No, my power, my own power that I had been put through hell to get, had practically forced me into agreeing with her. My eyes stung at that, more than the rampant burning that shot through my leg with each quick movement. An asset: that was what my power classified her as, even as I attempted to find the best way to disable her. And the worst part? I could see and understand the reasoning. As much as I wanted to hurt her, or at least to flatly refuse her, she was more experienced and willing to work with me. That she and probably Emma as well, knew that I was a parahuman only made it sting more. If I had struck her, if I had somehow managed to incapacitate or kill her, then what? Emma would break the secret wide open and I'd have the PRT knocking down my door before I could so much as check the extent of the damage Hookwolf had caused me.

An abandoned pile of wooden boxes were kicked, flying to scatter themselves to splinters on the fall wall as I continued taking out my anger on the abandoned building. I couldn't use a power that would keep betraying me when I needed it most. The situation was close to untenable. Nothing I could see to do would make things better, nothing that didn't involve throwing my lot in with either the Empire or the ABB. Sophia was a Ward, so they had to know what was going on, it actually made a lot of what they were able to get away with make more sense, after all: what school would say no to more funding and what amounts to an officer permanently on site?

'Give Sophia a chance.' Ha. She was one of the relatively few people I would say fully deserved whatever became of them, no matter what my power had hinted at. Well-meaning intentions meant nothing if the so called 'Heroes' were just as violent as the thugs. Working overtly against her wouldn't work, she would catch on and even if she didn't it wasn't like I could do anything to her, at least not for the time being. The only optimism I had about the situation came from my moment of greatest rage against her, when I had tried to turn my power against her and wanted to hurt her, I had a brief glimpse of, something I couldn't fully understand. All that I knew from it was that something could be done, there was a metaphorical path to follow that would get me out from under her thump. Until I found out just what that path was I would busy myself with improvement, starting with getting a better handle on my own damnable powers.

Exactly how long I had spent smashing up that warehouse was probably best left unstated. Whether that was something to pin on my power or simply me being my father's daughter, I neither knew nor particularly cared at that point. When the teleporter beacon activated and I rematerialized in the basement, my thoughts were on other things. They were focused on what eluded me, How exactly I was supposed to stop my power from influencing me again. And on what exactly I was going to do about Sophia.

I chose, perhaps unwisely, that sleep could wait. I checked over my armor, minimal damage from the rockets but Hookwolf had shredded a few pieces of the more flexible areas of it. There were so many improvements I could make, both ones I had the parts for and ones I didn't, but that was for another time, when I had resolved the more pressing issues. The paintjob was easily fixed, a few cans of spray-paint I kept to hand for exactly that purpose and it looked almost as good as new. The joints were trickier, but not by much, torn parts removed and mended as much as I was able or replaced with other parts. I make a note to add some measure of plating in the joints, it would probably slow my already stunted movement but that was far better than the alternative.

My injuries where next. Cold water, some gauze, and a few bandages were the best I could do. My arms and hands were riddled with small lines and marks from where Hookwolf's blades had gotten into the flexible portions around the fingers and the wrist, while my leg looked as if someone had taken a butcher's cleaver to it. That would be wonderful to try to explain, good thing I made it a habit to wear concealing clothing. If dad asked about the limb I could just say I had fallen or that I banged it on something. It would be lying to him, which I didn't like, but telling him the truth would not help matters.

At every opportunity I had I tried to focus on my power, the instincts that it granted me, even the changes it had been inflicting upon me, trying to figure out just why it did what it was doing. Why it worked so indiscriminately at the school while actively fighting me against Sophia. My queries went largely unanswered. No grand explanations, no manual that manifested to tell me what was going on, the closest it got was a slight expansion of what it had done with Shadow Stalker; a vague series of points and factors that bled together to mark her as an asset.

There was one of those ideas, an asset she could provide, that I wasn't familiar with. These weren't exactly labeled but it felt strangely familiar, like it was something I had done before. When the question crossed my mind of exactly what that was, I was glad for having been in the bathroom, attempting to clean off the blood that stained my skin even after the cuts sealed themselves. Various operations, modifications, and experiments filled my mind; the addition of extra organs, of carving out parts of a person's brain in the name of improvement. I retched and heaved up most of whatever I had eaten the previous day, such was the detail they were shown in. How best to splay the rib-cage open in order to insert the secondary heart, how best to ignore the pained screaming of the subject, and the best methods of selecting those worthy. All of this flowed into my mind as images and sheets of data I could only vaguely comprehend melded into actual sight of these events.

The screaming was unbearable. A thousand, thousand throats announcing their agony in unison as I felt hands that where not mind root around inside them, putting in new parts or removing existing ones. The lifeblood of some staining my hands as their bodies gave out under the stress and strain of it. A storm of images and memories cycled through me as I continued to empty my stomach.

When it quieted and the images and voices faded I understood some vague idea of what my power wanted to happen. If anything, it only made me angrier. Those operations where little better than torture, but the gifts they gave were ones I had some measure of understanding of. That was how the sons of Ferrus came to be. I had seen, at the end, the boys who yet remained, all standing tall, wearing the same black armor that I had seen within the dreams. Their pain was necessary, to ascend to something greater, and they did so willingly.

They were an honor, a gift given to those who were to sacrifice everything for the sake of a better tomorrow. Not something for an uncontrolled menace like Sophia. 'The weak die, the strong survive.' Her own words came to my mind unbidden and with them an image, a child, younger or older than myself I could not tell, who laid with his ribs splayed open, glazed over eyes looking towards the ceiling. Traits were compiled in a list of those most qualified: A killer instinct, fitness, aggression, even psychosis was looked upon favorably for the lack of moral qualms that the recruit would have for future enemies. All traits that both Shadow Stalker and Sophia Hess had in spades. My power kept pushing, hypnotherapy and indoctrination were used to insure loyalty and dedication to the cause, some of the implants wouldn't work properly without such measures.

It took all of my concentration just to halt the flow of images and ideas, of lists and traits. It left me feeling drained, even more so than the events of the night. All the same, that one act made something very clear to me. My power didn't have complete control, I could defy it.

I would use that plan, those implants, only if I had no other choice. With any luck the therapy would do something to make Hess a little more stable. But unless that was the only option, I would find a way to get out of the situation my power had gotten me into without rewarding Hess for what she had done to me.

I sketched down the process on some of the same paper I had been making a habit of keeping around for my designs, being careful to keep them separate from the others. Then, I went to bed, half-dreading what memories I would be subjected to this time. 

_**Author's notes:**_ Most everything was covered above, the full chapter should be out around Monday.

Also: A special thanks to the responses I received on the last chapter. A few have made me re-think some aspects of what I have planned and others have raised interesting ideas in their own right.

To those of you who have dedicated your time in this, I thank you. I hope I am able to improve and eventually meet your expectations.

Yours, Miria the Phantom


	6. Chapter 6

_**Chapter 6**_

The dream wasn't one of brotherhood or reunion, as the previous two were. This time the visions shown were ones of violence personified. Tens of thousands of Ferrus's sons dropped in metallic pods toward some city whose spires even then burned in the fires of bombardment. I was with them, within my own dedicated pod, accompanied by four of my closest sons.

Our reason for being here was forthcoming, something that was proving itself to be unusual in these dreams. We had responded to a call for aid only to be fired upon by the locals. Five of my sons had died when what was meant to be a diplomatic meeting turned into an ambush. They had died well. By the time reinforcements arrived the bodies lay thick upon the deck-plating around them. The whole deck stank of sulphur when I had arrived to investigate. Chemical weapons were suspected but the Apothecaries cleared that as a possibility, they had died by powered weapons.

Our planning had been minimal, such was my urge to redress this grievance, not that it seemed much planning was needed. The defenses of this world were scant. Three orbital stations that had been blasted into debris by our fleet and a collection of a dozen ships, a third of which had been escort class, nothing that would normally warrant anything more than a cursory amount of firepower.

Though it was far more the purview of my eldest brother, the tactic of shock and awe was one I saw merit in, for it allowed a small conflict like this to be ended quickly and with a relative minimum of blood spilt. Thus, the entirety of my fleet had been committed, and with it a large number of my sons. This upstart pocket of humanity would be brought into the fold. The estimations, limited in information though they were, estimated planetary compliance would be insured within half of a week, with the major cities set to fall today.

As the pod descended, my sons checked over their equipment. All where clad in armor much the same as myself, the me of the world rather than the me of the dream, large sets of humped armor that would withstand all but the heaviest of the enemies' weaponry. As the pod impacted the ground with bone-jarring force and the mounted guns expended their payloads to clear the immediate area, my sons set themselves for the fight to come.

The door bolts exploded, sending the doors flying outward. My sons roared cries of battle through their vox-grills, charging out to meet the enemy. I did likewise.

The scene that greeted me was nightmarish: half-collapsed buildings littered what must have once been the downtown of the city, areas where the bombardment had taken whole skyscrapers or torn great chunks out of what looked like cathedrals, and the entire place smelled of sulphur and blood. The entire city was a battleground, humans in their thousands fought against my sons, to little effect. Out of the corner of my eye I saw one of my sons, equipped in more standard powered armor, chop his way through a squad of enemy troops with a sword of spinning teeth, sparing no thought to the dozens of high-caliber rounds pinging off his armor. None of this seemed to surprise the me of the dream, the only thing dream-me found unusual was the pervasive smell. The blood shouldn't have spread that quickly, no matter how efficient my sons were in their duty, and sulphur wasn't a usual smell of the battlefield.

All the same, the me of the dream charged into battle. With each swing of Forgebreaker a handful of men met their ends or a tank crumpled like so much scrap metal. I thought that I would be sick, where it not for the vague sense of detachment I felt, these men where the enemy, to bring peace the enemy had to die. The men I fought were like ants to me. Even the tallest was barely half my size and no piece of cover nor weight of firepower could so much as slow me down. They where so slow compared to me, in the time it took one man to reload his gun I had ripped apart his and another squad. Even my sons seemed to glide through them like so much water against a ship. Despite this, none of our enemies took a step back, they were being slaughtered in droves yet not one so much as hesitated in trying to fight us.

That, however, seemed to get dream-me's attention. While I was unnerved by the blood and gore, and sickened that so many were dying over what had even the merest chance of being a mistake or moment of stupidity, the me of the dream was far more clinical. That none of them where fleeing raised questions. Even the most valiant and selfless of defenders showed fear, even if they shook it off to fight in spite of it, it was still there. These men shown none of that, it wasn't that they were brave, it was that they didn't seem to care whether or not they died. That pointed to one of two things in the me of the dream's mind: Either they were being controlled or they where fanatics. Those were the only other times the me of the dream could recall fighting men so willing to die.

Another unnerving sign came some minutes later, one that seemed to disconcert both of me. One of my sons, a captain whose name I cannot recall, contacted me over the vox and directed me to an anomaly within the city. It was an oddity in the extreme for any of my sons to contact me in such a way, which meant that it was important. I directed my guards, and we went.

A charnel pit. That was the closest I could come to describing it. A massive pit filled by bodies nearly a block wide, the whole thing encircled by runes drawn in blood. It would seem the civilians weren't evacuated after all.

That was the thought that went through dream-me's head before the first of the _things_ crawled its way out of the pit. It was a large thing, almost as tall as my sons, with curled horns encircling its head and flesh the color of raw sinew. Everything about it seemed wrong in some way. Like it was moving out of synch with reality. It went in an instant from slow, unsteady, climbing to a full out charge toward one of my sons. A large blade of flame swung, never making the strike as several of my sons put the creature down with a spray of bolter fire. Already exclamations were coming through the vox, this was happening across the city, and my sons were struggling to fight them in places.

What happened next was a blur. We fought these creatures, creatures that my sons believed to be xenos who had been controlling the minds of the people of this planet. The me of the dream seemed to know the truth, but did nothing to deny that assertion. What had started as a slaughter had turned into a fighting withdrawal, with shuttles and carriers coming down to pick up everyone who had been sent to take the city.

The sense of resignation was the only hint I had of what was to come from the me of the dream. Once everyone was situated back in orbit a meeting was held between myself and several of my sons. Words I did not understand were far more common than those I did. Protocol was brought up, as was the ethics of what was to be done, the various officers argued and debated what course of action to take all the while I simply sat back and observed, mulling over what order to give. When I stood and spoke, all listened. "There are no humans left on that world, only the predators that preyed upon them. It is our duty to stop them from continuing their predations. For the sake of humanity, no action is beyond my remit and no measure too dire." The looks that played over the faces of my sons and the normal humans of the room were varied only slightly. A few of my sons looked down or away, disappointed or ashamed that no more could be done; others simply frowned, but none objected.

I adjourned the meeting and started toward the bridge. A sense of resignation beginning to coil itself in my chest.

An order was given that I did not understand 'Exterminatus' it was called. Grim faces met this order but none dared argue. The order was relayed to the other ships and they drifted into position. What happened next was a sight that would be burned into my mind until the day I die.

Several large canisters were launched at the planet. Where they hit, a fog seemed to rapidly fall over entire areas of the planet, as if everything on the planet was simply melting into sludge. Time passed, whether it was minutes or days I could not tell, such was the numbness settling itself throughout my mind, and I felt myself give another order "Ignite the firestorm, nothing must remain."

Great beams of light shot down towards the planet and where they struck, plumes of fire sparked and spread. In mere minutes, the entire planet was consumed in a great storm of fire. The only assurance I had as I began to stir was the thought that kept repeating itself, that it was what had to be done and that it was for a better tomorrow.

I woke with a start, shooting up in my bed and making a grab for a hammer that was never at my side. As soon as I knew where I was I allowed myself to sink back into my covers. It felt like my veins had turned to ice and my whole body ached, as if I really had been the one fighting through that hell-scape.

I lay there for some minutes, trying to work out everything I had seen. Designs of all sorts filtered into my mind as I went back over the dream. Various armor types, claws that could be wreathed in lightning at a moment's notice, guns that could gut powered armor, even a few of the ships I had seen through the view-port of the ship I had been on. The thing that drew most of my attention and concern, however, was what had been used on the planet. If I was interpreting the images being fed to me correctly it was some sort of life-eating virus, used to decompose all organic life on a planet.

Most of the designs I created seemed excessive to one degree or another. Armor that was stronger and thicker than that of most tanks, guns that wouldn't so much kill as shred, and ships that bore enough firepower to level a city. All of that I could see a reason for existing, in one way or another. As the me of the dream had said: a war ended viciously is a war ended quickly. I - no matter how I twisted it - couldn't find a possible way that a weapon that could kill a planet would ever be needed. Nor could I think of a reason for such a weapon to be used.

Beyond that, why had I used it in the dream? The creatures were tough, certainly. But how could that justify the killing so many people, or the destruction of so much. There had been a sense of resignation and a twinge or regret when the order was give but no attempt to stop it or mitigate the damage. Why had I-

"Taylor, get up! It's time for school!" I jumped as my dad's voice echoed up from downstairs. A quick look at my clock revealed that I had indeed overslept, something that was very unusual for me, especially after the changes. Then again, that dream seemed longer than the others.

 _ **Line Break**_

Winslow felt wrong. Very, very wrong. As I walked through the halls in as close to a usual routine as I allowed myself, not one of Emma or Sophia's cronies jibed or jeered or threw insults at me. No surprises in my locker, not that I wanted to make a habit of having to use it again after the incident. Just, nothing.

If any of them noticed my slight limp, something I was sure would normally be pounced on, none of them said anything.

Usually me getting a break meant they were building up to something bigger and considering what Sophia now knew that could be very bad indeed. My first class was usually my refuge, none of the three took it and few enough of their cronies did that they didn't bother with me during it. Now, after spending a good five minutes on what was supposed to take the whole period, all I could do was stew and consider what was to come.

Well, that's not quite true. Computers allowed for internet access after all, and I never did find out what happened to Hookwolf. I had wanted to call him in to the PRT but my helmet didn't yet have integrated coms beyond the basic vox-caster, and I wasn't about to remove it in order to use a payphone. I was pretty sure he was still alive after the beating I gave him.

A quick search revealed nothing out of the ordinary, the closest it got was a rumor on PHO that some new Parahuman might have fought him in the docks but the results were inconclusive. Meaning he wasn't picked up. I sagged in my seat at that, it meant that not only was Hookwolf still at large but that the Empire would be actively gunning for me. Hookwolf might have been mostly unable to hurt me through my armor but there was no way to tell if that would be true with someone like Purity or Kaiser.

For the sake of compiling more data, it wouldn't due to be caught off-guard as I had been with the clash between the ABB and Empire eighty-eight, I continued searching.

Almost an hour of searching turned up little. The Wards had engaged in a few minor skirmishes with the Merchants down by the docks a week or so ago, apparently the drug-dealers had been beaten rather badly in that one, although no one was captured. The empire and ABB were currently involved in a gang war, something I could have stood to know last night. Although one piece of info that was slightly concerning was related to the ABB, apparently Lung had brought in a new cape. Gangs press-ganging new parahumans into joining wasn't all that uncommon, or so the internet said. Whether this was another of those cases or not, that in and of itself wasn't the issue, the problem was more related to just who this new Parahuman was.

Apparently she had started up her career by holding up Cornell University using a variety of Tinker-tech bombs. From the few reports that were publicly available it looked like a miracle that no one was killed when Legend and the Protectorate took her into custody. That it had taken the attention of a member of the Triumvirate was concerning in and of itself. She had been tried, sentenced to the Baumann Parahuman Containment Center, known to most as the Birdcage, and was busted out by Lung en-route.

Lung didn't usually leave the city. He was one of only two capes in the ABB and was by far the stronger of the two, so his presence was usually needed to ensure the Empire or the Merchants didn't push into ABB territory. I suppose that explains the rockets. They were having to hold back the Empire with only Oni Lee to fight against Hookwolf and whoever else was thrown at them.

If she was worth the time of Legend to lock up and considered enough of an asset for Lung to leave the city while a war was brewing just to get her, then this 'Bakuda' would be a threat. That she was another Tinker was also of concern. Tinkers usually have a specialization, some are general and some are not. Armsmaster's was pretty versatile since, if the data I had been able to find online was correct, his only limit was that he made things smaller and more efficient, meaning he could build all sorts of advanced tech instead of just a certain type. What exactly my own specialization is was something that I wasn't even going to attempt to puzzle out. Oversized guns, tanks, power armor, starships; ha, maybe my area of expertise was overkill. This Bakuda seemed to be specialized in bombs, a fairly wide category. Moreover, a category that would probably include things that would kill or maim regardless of my equipment. Armor didn't mean much if it and you were both turned to glass after all.

As the bell rang I shut off the computer, making sure to close the tabs I had opened, and went to my next class. One that I shared with Madison.

 _ **Line Break**_

Things were increasingly disconcerting as the class went on. It would have merely been odd or indicative of a plan at work if nothing happened at all, but one of the girls had tried to start up one of their conversation that they would use to mock me. Little barbs directed at me and said well within my hearing, done in such a way that it was both incredibly petulant and yet also rather cunning, all done from a point of plausible deniability. She started talking to another of the girls about one thing or other, not unusual in the slightest and fairly easy to block out. The unusual part came when Madison stepped in and shushed her before the mocking could commence in earnest.

That would have been rather odd in and of itself. There was a chance that the trio had simply wanted to hold back for a good chance and didn't want anyone spoiling the buildup, so it was still explainable. I refocused my attention on the notes I'd been idly sketching into my notebook, a tune that I had made a habit of humming to myself as I worked, one that I couldn't place.

It was odd, I had some experience in reading notes and keys from my mom. I used to practice with her flute and seem to vaguely recall being able to play a song or two on it but I didn't have much talent for the notes themselves. Yet still the ideal placement and combinations seemed to spring to mind at the merest thought. I was becoming invested enough in the cataloguing of the notes that when a hand placed itself on my shoulder I had to resist the urge to jump in my seat. "Hey, Taylor," Madison's voice was almost never a nice thing to hear, especially when it was directed to me in specific. "You okay?" I must have been hearing things, she actually managed to sound somewhat sincere when she asked that.

It wasn't a good idea to try talking to her if I could avoid it, anything I would say would either be twisted around on me or used against me later. So keeping responses mono-syllabic seemed for the best. "Yea." Was as quick a reply as I could manage.

I did however turn to face her, probably another bad idea but I liked to look at whoever I was talking to. "You didn't hear a word I said did you? Typical for a-" She cut herself off, another oddity, but this one was far more concerning. None of the main three, even Madison who was the least vitriolic in her dislike of me, held back when talking to me. Something was going on, and I didn't like the look of it.

She recovered from her little verbal stumble quickly and continued as if it hadn't happened. "I had said that Sophia and Emma wanted to talk to you the next chance you get. Is that okay with you?" Fuck. Something was definitely going on, and I didn't like the look of it at all. None of them ever acted like that. It was never a request, if they wanted something from me they took it or threatened me about what would happen if I didn't do what they wanted, but they never asked. What made it worse was that it sounded genuine, not the sort of insulting tone she or Emma would typically use to mock me or the rhetorical sort that was only used to make sure I knew whatever it was they wanted was going to happen.

This had something to do with Sophia, that much was obvious. Maybe she just didn't want me losing my temper now that she knew I could actually fight back, or maybe she wanted me to do something in costume. Either way this didn't bode well, but really what choice did I have? She would just track me down after school if I ignored her, assuming she didn't do so before-hand.

With that less than encouraging thought in mind, I replied. "Yea, sure. I'll see what she wants at lunch?" It probably wasn't a good idea to dictate things to Madison, even if she was playing nice for the moment. It was moments like this that I would have appreciated the slightly claustrophobic feeling of being enclosed in my warplate, it lent a certain sense of confidence to know that almost nothing could hurt you, a sense of invulnerability that was present regardless to how strong the armor actually was.

Madison nodded before moving away from me to go chat with a few of her friends.

I turned back to the paper I had been listing down the notes of the tune that had so occupied my time, now far less into it than I had been a scant few moments ago. Whatever it was Sophia wanted, she was making my power's offer more tempting with every passing action.

 _ **Line Break**_

Lunch time, for me at least, wasn't pleasant at the best of times. Most of the time I spent them sequestered away in one of the bathrooms or unoccupied classrooms, anywhere that wouldn't draw attention. This time, going off of a note passed to me during my last class from Emma, I was on the roof. The door to the roof was supposed to be locked, although I'm not sure why I actually expected it to be, this was Winslow after all. Sophia was leaning against one of the edges of the building, sipping from an energy drink of some kind that I didn't recognize the brand of.

It was something of an annoyance how she looked, athletic and attractive while the best I could manage was looking like the stereotypical loner. Even as she was, casual and informal, she still managed to look confidant and at home in her choice of outfit which showed off her form. The closest I had was what I was slowly putting on from my metalworking, and what little of that was actually translating to muscle was small and slight, the sort that I was only beginning to take notice of. It certainly didn't help that she actually had something to show off, defined muscles formed from her track practice and time serving the city, while all I could say was that I was beginning to shake the frog-like physic I had, with my limbs beginning to fill out. Be it her confidence or her form, she just seemed to outperform me in every way without trying. The only part of myself I thought might be slightly better than her was my hair, the one feature of myself I could safely say I was proud of.

"You gonna keep staring or are we gonna talk?" To say Sophia ever sounded particularly pleasant, at least when talking to me, would be a stretch; but that barb at least sounded more like a friendly jab rather than actual annoyance. Then again, Sophia trying to be friendly was yet another sign that she was planning something, and I didn't like that thought. Sophia acting violent or threatening was something I was well used to, her acting friendly or even cordial was not something I was either prepared for or knew how to react to.

It would probably be best not to bait her, being confrontational never ended well, especially were Sophia was concerned. With that in mind I walked over to the edge of the building, taking a spot a few feet to the right of Sophia. I was pretty sure that trying to throw me off the building would be a bit much for even Sophia but the few feet would give me a chance to move if she tried it. Not wanting to dwell on the subject of looks or the prospect of having to fight her here of all places I decided it would be best to try changing the topic, she seemed to appreciate being direct so with that in mind I asked. "You wanted to talk, what is it?"

Apparently this was the wrong thing to say, at least the glare she was giving me gave that impression. All the same, she responded. "Yea. I got some information from the PRT. Apparently Hookwolf got away."

I had expected about as much. The reports, or rather the lack there-of, about him being apprehended were pointing to that. If I had to guess he was probably picked up by some of the Empire capes that would have been in the area. I was pretty sure they had a healer on their team, Othala, if my memory served. That could cause problems later but at least I wouldn't have to worry about him having been killed in the aftermath of our fight, that would have been far worse as if I was implicated in it there was a possibility of the Empire trying to hunt me down. That, and I wasn't entirely clear on how the law would look upon me for killing him, even if he was trying to kill me at the time. Judging by the look Sophia was giving me, she expected a response. "I thought that would happen. Still, at least he should be off the street for a while."

I had half expected an insult of some kind, so when all that came was an amused chuckle I was more than a little confused. Although most of that might just have been that Sophia hadn't jumped to insult me when the opportunity showed itself. "That's how you look at it huh?" The presence of a smile was deeply worrying, even if it didn't look malicious. "I figure he'll be off the streets for a week at the most. Then he'll be right back at it, probably trying to find you to settle the score after what you did to him." If anything the smile grew when she said that, and with it my concern about being this close to her while she was acting so, unusual.

She raised a fair point though. Hookwolf would be coming after me for what I did to him. The good thing about that was I didn't have a gang or a base where he could track me down. From what little I knew about capes attacking a cape out of costume was frowned upon by even the Villains. What little of that I was able to find online mostly consisted of various theories that mostly pointed to the case of Fleur being killed after going public with her identity some years ago and the idea that it would give the villains nothing to lose. I could manage Hookwolf if I needed to, by avoiding him if nothing else. It occurred to me that I should probably not be mulling this over while trying to talk to someone, especially someone as sort-tempered as Sophia.

"Good point. I'll keep an eye out." And I officially didn't know what to do or what to say. Did I try to politely excuse myself and leave as quickly as possible? Was I supposed to provide some sort of information as well?

I'm not sure if I should be thankful for it but she saved me from having to make up an excuse by starting to speak again. "There was another thing. We had to sit through a few briefings about a new cape in town, a certain bomber we're supposed to be staying away from. 'Too dangerous' they've been saying."

"You mean Bakuda right? The Tinker that joined up with the ABB recently?"

She nodded. "Yea, that's her. I was thinking that since you're a Tinker you might be able to help me out with her." Ah, and there's the request I was dreading. She wanted my help to try to fight someone who had nearly blown a university sky-high for some reason. This wasn't going to end well.

"Didn't you say your bosses didn't want you fighting her? I don't think it would be a good idea to-" It was a bad idea to begin with. With my luck she would have said that I would be doing it alone so she would still be following her orders.

"What did I tell you before?" That at least sounded somewhat mocking. Sophia being mocking was something I was familiar with. "The PRT is full of a bunch of fuckin' cowards who don't want to get their hands dirty. Besides, she tried to bomb a school, she's a terrorist in all but name. You wanted to help people with this whole hero thing, right? This is the perfect chance." That I very much doubted. "Tinkers take time to get set up, at least according to Armsmaster. If we can get her before she gets a proper lab up and starts making a bunch of cray shit then we'll be stopping the ABB from being able to do a lot of damage." For some reason, I got the impression that line of reasoning was more for my benefit than hers. Still, she raised a fair point. It had taken the better part of a month to set up my armor and even then it was missing a fair number of features.

Given what she did at Cornell, and if the internet was right about her being alone at the time, if she were allowed the time she could and probably would bring that level of destruction and more to Brockton Bay. I couldn't allow that if I could stop it. Still, I couldn't shake the suspicion that this was going to go remarkably badly. I doubted Sophia already knew the location of Bakuda's hideout, if she did then I suspect the PRT or Protectorate would have already raided it. I could use however long it took her to prepare. As the saying went: No risk, no reward. With a confidence that I certainly did not feel, I gave my answer. "Okay. I'm in. Just give me a little time to prepare and recover."

Sophia looked entirely too pleased with my response, a large grin splitting her face. She finished off her drink before rearing back and chucking the bottle off the roof before giving me a proper response. "Yea, figured you say that. Come to think of it how is your leg? I didn't get a good look at it last night but it looked pretty nasty." That her grin never left her face as she spoke only served to further unnerve me. She wasn't wrong though, 'nasty' was certainly how it had looked as I tried cleaning it up before bed last night. Just like the cut on my arm it seemed to have sealed itself quickly, leaving a mess of scar tissue that, if the arm was any indication, would break down to reveal healthy skin in time.

"It's fine. Just a little uncomfortable to walk on, I'll get used to it." I wasn't going to mention that I was more than a little worried that it might not heal right. At best that would just promote more jabs at me.

Sophia closed the distance between us entirely too quickly for my tastes. Before I could react she swung an arm around my shoulders and gave what I'm pretty sure was supposed to be a comforting squeeze, both her timing and the action itself made it anything but. If this was supposed to be comforting, then she had alot of work to do. Then again, considering I froze up and was debating if I could take the jump to the ground from here to get away, perhaps I wasn't one to talk. Sophia didn't do friendly, especially not with me. To say it was uncomfortable would be the height of an understatement. even if it weren't painfully obvious she didn't fully know what she was doing, the action itself, especially from someone like her, caused infinitely more feelings of fear and unease than comfort or camaraderie. "Don't worry too much. Everyone makes mistakes their first time out. Just make sure it doesn't happen again." That she actually seemed to be trying only made it worse that _Sophia_ of all people was attempting to give me words of encouragement.

It was odd enough, and had been going on for long enough, that I decided to give voice to my concern, hoping that it wouldn't backfire too badly. "Why are you acting like this all of a sudden? You find out I'm a cape and suddenly we're have a conversation." I wasn't going to mention what our normal interactions were like, that would just be asking for it.

She had a smile on her face and spoke the words easily. "You proved you weren't just going to let us do whatever we wanted. You showed me you weren't just some coward, too scarred to stand on your own two feet and relying on others to do everything for you."

I felt my hands ball into fists. That was it. That was all I had to do all this time to get these- these-

My fist swung around before I had a real grasp of what I was doing. With one of her arms still around me I couldn't have missed if I tried. It collided solidly with Sophia's jaw, she obviously wasn't expecting it because she didn't dodge or even attempt to get out of the way. She fell solidly on her back, either training or instinct kicking in enough that she knew to tuck her head forward to avoid hitting it off the concrete of the roof.

It was the work of a moment for her to flip herself back onto her feet, if I had to guess it was a move she had practiced for her time as a cape. My power's influence scratched at the back of my eyes, begging for a chance to be used. I began to allow its influence in, the best places to strike and optimal ways to move filling my vision.

Surprises seemed content to keep coming. Sophia held up a hand. "Okay, okay. -Fuck that hurt- I deserved that." Her voice was off slightly, tinged by a pain that, in spite of myself, I took some measure of pride in having caused. She rolled her jaw a few times, clicking sounds coming out every so often, before she spoke again. "That's exactly what I mean. You never would've fucking _dared_ to do something like that a month ago. You're stronger now, mentally and physically, you can be more than just some nobody who needs everything done for them now."

What had been fury simmered down, if only slightly. That only partially had anything to do with me, my power was starting to bombard me with ideas and thought patterns. The smell of sulphur stung at my nose as the trail of Sophia's logic spelled itself out for me, as if she herself was explaining it step by step. It was off, stilted in some way, as if being influenced by something that I couldn't put my finger on, but still it made a certain sense. My anger continued to dwindle in spit of myself, whether this was entirely my power's work or not, and it didn't seem to be as my thoughts didn't feel foggy as they had back in the alley with Sophia last night, I would attempt to –not forgive- but merely attempt to work past this inherent difference between us. For the sake of the city, if nothing else.

I made my way towards the door, it wouldn't be a good idea to be near her until I had a chance to think things over. I half expected to be attacked while my back was to her but Sophia simply called when I reached the door. "You're still going to help with Bakuda?" Whether it was a question or a demand I wasn't quite sure but I nodded nonetheless. For the sake of the city, sacrifices would have to be made.

 _ **Line Break**_

Lunch, what little of it was left, passed swiftly. Frankly I was surprised I hadn't been called down and questioned about the fight yesterday, maybe that was more of Sophia or Emma's work. There was also that none of the Empire kids seemed to want to try getting back at me, I doubt that was Sophia, maybe that was just a few of them deciding to act on a rumor and they were just expecting everyone to ignore that they lost a fight. That was fine by me, fighting with the Empire was something I'd much rather do from within my warplate than at school, were it would be all too easy for someone to figure out where I lived.

Anger can make people do things they wouldn't ever normally do, things that they regretted or dreaded once the anger passed and they could think clearly again. In my case, this moment happened a good few minutes into my next class, when the fact that I had decked Sophia Hess of all people, finally hit me. Attempting to fight back in the past only ever resulted in me getting a beating, then again, I didn't know how to fight back then; with any luck Sophia would keep acting like she had when it happened. Besides, you apparently did need help with Bakuda and as much as I was dreading having to fight her, the reason for such dread I could not truly place, it would be far better than things going back to how they had been at Winslow for the better part of the last two years. Another thought struck, maybe I could even get my grades back up. It wasn't that I was a bad student or anything, but having projects go 'missing' or homework being 'mysteriously missing' from my backpack had resulted in my grades tanking along with my social status.

Not much else happened that day, Emma and I never crossed paths beyond our shared classes, for which I was thankful and Sophia didn't try to get back at me. That was actually the odd one, toward the end of the day we crossed paths in the halls and all she did was give a nod that might have been considered friendly if anyone else had been giving it and continue on her way.

Upon arriving home I sent myself to work. If I was to fight Bakuda then I would need to be prepared. The force-field generator on my armor would need to be improved, it was supposed to kick on far more often than it had during my fight with Hookwolf, and my armor would need to be tuned and improved. Lots of data and minor tweaking, stuff that was needed desperately and also let me keep walking on my still injured leg to a minimum. I discovered, during the course of my work, that while I didn't find pouring over sheets of data to be boring, despite only understanding about a third of the data being shown, something about my process of physically looking over each readout or sitting there to observe each test struck me as something that could be greatly improved upon.

I was barely able to wait for the current test to complete before I was scrambling for one of the empty pieces of graph paper and quickly set about jotting down whatever came to mind. This one seemed a bit different from the others. While previous creations were fairly blunt and self-evident in what they did, the purpose of these metallic cords that were supposed to be attached to my armor didn't immediately strike me. All the same, I was itching to build and my powered had hinted that it would make the tests better. With that in mind: I grabbed for my tools and began work.

Today seemed to be a day of oddities. This cable-thing I was attempting to make was simultaneously one of the easiest and most difficult to craft yet. By in large all that was required were a few handfuls of wires, a cable, and some sort of port on each end, one to fit into the armor and another to act as an intermedium with the outside; all of these things I had on hand if the form of spare parts and bits that I had been planning on working into the so-call Terminator armor. Yet it required such precise placement of the wires used, such attention to detail that my eyes had begun burning only a few minutes into construction. The materials used weren't low quality, that is to say, they were all from my dad's gifts for my 'new hobby' rather than the scrap I occasionally took from the boat graveyard for the sake of adding more bulk or getting raw supplies.

I was forced to take a break when dad came home. I made it no secret to him that I was spending most of my time working on my hobby but I didn't want to appear suspicious by sequestering myself away from him the whole time. Apparently the Union had been hired on to do another job by the same person. The pay was good and the job, according to dad, was something that could only barely be considered work. He had been sure to check through all of the paperwork and look into what supplies they were handling to make sure it wasn't some sort of illegal operation and the only suspicious thing he had been able to find was that the person hiring hadn't ever done so before. They apparently had a lot of money to throw around and dad presumed it was either that the woman who had made the deal was new to negotiating or was wanting to make doubly sure the job was done correctly. It was rather nice to be able to talk with dad about something that I didn't have to lie about or attempt to cover up.

After dinner I went through the usual steps of pretending to go to sleep, in this case continuing to fill out the sheet of musical notes that I still only half-way understood. I was pretty sure that it was an orchestral of some kind, the type of thing you might hear at a parade or from an anthem. I spent a good hour or two on it, far more than I had meant to. When I finally tore myself away from my distraction, by which point it was starting to look less like idle scribblings and more like something you might see a conductor read off of, it was nearly midnight.

The creation of a port in my armor was far more trouble than it should have been, I hadn't created the armor with the idea of adding things to it but I was able to create a workaround. The cable would connect into the armor from near the top of the area the helmet fit into, that way it would be less likely to be clipped by a stray shot or if the teleported put me to close to a building.

All the same, by about two in the morning I had done it. The coil of metal was fully attached to the armor and the armor was altered in just such a way that it would integrate into the armor's systems. It was far more trouble than I was expecting for a single cable that was maybe six or seven feet long, but it would work. I just wish my power bothered to tell me what it was supposed to do and how something attached to the armor would make running tests for it easier.

When I laid down for bed a few hours later, a habit that would have been the death of me if it weren't for whatever changes my body had been putting me through, I could only think one thing 'This was a weird day and knowing my luck it's only going to get weirder.'

 _ **Author's note:**_ A day of oddities indeed. And knowing Worm 'odd' is the least of your worries.

 _ **Also:**_ My thanks to user 'Lydia-Hood' for pointing out a potential plot hole to me, I should have that fixed around the same time this chapter goes up.

Apologies for this chapter being slightly late, a few things came up in my personal life.

On to details that I couldn't directly address in chapter due to character reasons, not sure if this would be termed 'spoilers' as pretty much all of this (in my twisted line of thinking at least) could be gleaned from the chapter itself but regardless here we go:

As a rule (and this was really something I should have mentioned back in chapter four) it I mention 'Sulphur' or the smell there-of I am referencing the use of psyker abilities, which is pretty common in various 40k books and the lore (the full explanation will come in time)

In relation to the music sheet, I feel the need to mention that no, this isn't one of those 'inserting music for a fight scene' bits. I find those rather distasteful. It is meant to show that she is improving in ways other than sheer physical power and learning how to make tech from 40/30k, she is also taking on a Primarch's intellect and talent. No, I don't intend on this translating to her being good at everything. At the point of her being a full blown Primarch she would still be Taylor, just greater; in a similar way to how all of the Primarchs are humans, just greater. Also: as it is the only canonical piece of music I'm familiar with, the one I was thinking of while writing that bit was 'Savior of the Imperium' which was mentioned in the Beast arises series. Not really important or anything, just a little bit of trivia for those interested.

Sophia attempting to be friendly was her own attempt at smoothing things over a bit and not being very good at it. (She was never shown to be very good at social things but I'm pretty sure even she would understand the idea of holding a grudge against someone who hurt you) That would also be the reason for her not attempting to get back at Taylor for attacking her, she more or less considers it to be Taylor's 'one free shot' at her.

The coil she was making would be a mechadendrite, something that Ferrus would be aware of how to make but might not have ever made himself.

Bakuda being apprehended by Legend is something that I am pretty sure was mentioned in the story. I know for a fact it was mentioned that the New York Protectorate were the ones to apprehend her and Legend is the one who leads that team, so it makes a fair amount of sense, especially with how public the Cornell incident was.

As always I implore you all to voice whatever concerns you have with the story: be it with my prose, characterization, or plot. This is still a learning process and criticism is necessary for me to improve.

My thanks to you all for giving some of your time to reading this and I hope that I will be able to improve and meet your standards at some point.

Yours, Miria the Phantom


End file.
